


Makes No Difference Who You Are

by AmyPond45



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Episode: s06e09 Clap Your Hands If You Believe, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Season 13 canon-divergent, casefic, eventual bottom!Sam, eventual first time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-23 16:17:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14937698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmyPond45/pseuds/AmyPond45
Summary: When people start disappearing in Elmwood, Indiana, Sam and Dean return to the town where they faced one of their strangest cases seven years ago. Revisiting the past dredges up all kinds of long-repressed feelings, and when Dean gets sucked into Faerie again, Sam finds himself facing a foe far more dangerous than the king of the fairies. Rescuing Dean is only the beginning of a journey through the labyrinth of the Winchesters’ complicated love for each other, with no guarantee they’ll make it out alive.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TxDorA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TxDorA/gifts).



> This story is set in a canon-divergent Season 13, just after 13.19 “Funeralia.” There is no Jack, no Lucifer, no Mary, no other alternate universes except the one in this story. Crowley is probably still alive and King of Hell, but he doesn’t get mentioned in this story. Inspired by the gorgeous artwork of [TxDorA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TxDorA/profile) for the [2018 Wincest Reverse Bang.](https://wincest-reverse.livejournal.com/profile) Be sure to check out her art post [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14960505) and leave her some love!

“We’re going back _where?_ ”

“Elmwood, Indiana.” Sam turned the laptop so that Dean could see the news story. He was pretty sure his expression said it all.

Dean took another bite of bacon and frowned. “And I’m supposed to remember some random hunt in some random town six years ago because why?”

Sam pursed his lips. “Seven. It’s been seven years. And yeah. Pretty sure you’d remember this one. UFOs. Faeries. Jiminy Cricket. Ring a bell?”

“Oh.” Dean blanched, then flushed. His eyes flicked away from Sam, then back, wide and green. “Oh no. You’re kidding me, right? We iced those motherfuckers.”

Sam grimaced. “Well, technically we didn’t kill them,” he said, annoyance prickling up the back of his neck. “We just sent them back to their world. Dimension. Realm. Whatever. But apparently, they’re back. People have been disappearing again. Not crop circles this time, just a stretch of highway going out of town. Cars left abandoned on the side of the road. Four in the last month. Like last time.”

“No sign of a struggle? Nothing...uh...natural?”

“Dude, do you seriously think this much coincidence could be something natural?” Sam huffed. He was as disgusted as Dean was by the thought of going back to the scene of one of his soulless cases. He’d rather never think about that period in his life ever again.

“Okay, so what happened? The banishing spell didn’t work and the – the fairies didn’t leave after all?” Dean was obviously having trouble even saying the “f” word.

“No, the spell worked,” Sam insisted. “I saw them disappear. But it’s possible that they’re back. I remember reading the lore at the time, and I’m pretty sure it said that once you open a door into Faerie, it permanently weakens the wall between our two worlds, so the possibility for something to come through again is always there. If someone in that town figured out how to do a summoning spell...”

“But we took Brennan’s book when we left town,” Dean protested. “Didn’t we?”

“I think so,” Sam agreed. But suddenly, he wasn’t so sure.

“Yeah, we must’ve burned it,” Dean said. “Right?”

Sam took a deep breath. “I honestly don’t remember. That would’ve been the logical thing to do, of course.”

“Right. And Robo-You was nothing if not logical. So.”

“Right.”

They were both silent for a moment. Sam remembered a lot of things about that case, but putting the book in the trunk of the car, burning it once they were out of town, wasn’t one of those things. He trusted that his soulless self would’ve done it, since that guy was so thorough about everything, so meticulous and precise.

But that case rattled Soulless more than he wanted to admit. It wasn’t...logical or predictable. Dean’s abduction had been particularly disturbing, since at the time it just didn’t make sense. Why had the creatures taken Dean in the first place? Was it an accident? Was it just because Dean was in the right place at the right time? Or was there something about Dean that attracted them? Besides the fact that he was a first-born son?

And now there was the problem of Dean’s having been to Faerie before.

“You know, maybe you should sit this one out,” Sam suggested. “Maybe I should go in alone this time.”

Dean’s eyes widened and he took a step back. “What? What are you talking about? Of course we’ll go together!”

“It’s just – “ Sam found it hard to look Dean in the eye. “You’ve been there before, man. If it really _is_ a fairy thing again, those dudes had it in for you, remember? You, specifically. It might not be the safest thing for you to put yourself in their crosshairs again, is all I’m saying.”

Dean’s jaw clenched and Sam braced himself for his brother’s indignation. “You think I can’t handle a couple of fairies? Really?”

Sam flinched, but didn’t back down. “One of them beat the crap out of you in that jail cell...”

“Yeah, while you were being nearly beaten to death by a leprechaun half your size in a watch shop! I remember, Sam. I’d be willing to bet those little creeps have it in for _you_ , too.”

“But you were abducted, Dean.” Sam pulled out the big guns. “You’ve _been_ to Faerie. You’re marked. According to the lore, they always reclaim their own.”

“I am _not_ going to get abducted again,” Dean protested, gruff and shrill at the same time.

But Sam caught his little shiver, the faraway look in his eyes before he shook it off and glared at Sam again.

“I’m not talking about abduction.” Sam sighed. “I’m talking about seduction. There’s a difference.”

“What the hell does that even mean?” Dean’s fists clenched, but Sam barreled on.

“I’m not so much worried about them dragging you back there as I am about you _wanting_ to go there. The lore says, once you’ve been to Faerie, the desire to return can be incredibly strong. The few instances of people returning to our world from Faerie all describe how miserable they are here. They spend their lives trying to get back there, and when they fail they basically waste away and die. It’s like they left some vital part of themselves in that world and they can’t live without it.”

“Well, that’s not me.” Dean shook his head. “The vital part of me is right here in this world, thank you very much. I have no desire to go back there. None. Zero. Zilch.”

“You say that, but if they offered to take you back...”

“I’d say no, Sam, just like before. No question. There’s nothing for me there. How can you even think that?”

“I don’t know, Dean.” Sam was dubious. “Faerie is supposed to be a really beautiful place, where all your cares and worries go away and you can live the life you always wanted. It’s always described as...Well, it’s a lot like Heaven, actually.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not Heaven if you’re not there,” Dean muttered. “So no, thank you. I already told them that.”

“You did?” Sam was shocked. “You said that to them when they abducted you?”

“Maybe not in so many words...I told you about it at the time, Sam,” Dean said, visibly upset at the memories. “They wanted to drag me into the light and I pulled out everything I had and fought them. And I’d do it again. There’s no way they want me back. I am not going anywhere without my brother. Pretty sure I made that clear.”

“Huh.” Sam hadn’t considered the idea that their soul-bond might have something to do with the fact that the Faerie folk hadn’t been able to hold on to Dean. Maybe that bond would protect Dean, if he faced the lure of Faerie again.

“So whatever we’re up against in that town, we face it together, just like we always do. Capiche?” Dean could see he’d won, but he was going to force Sam to capitulate, just because he was the big brother.

Sam smiled. Dean didn’t even realize how easy he was for Sam to read, and Sam sure wasn’t about to tell him.

“Yeah, okay, but we stay together this time. No more wandering out into crop circles by yourself.”

“Like you even cared,” Dean scoffed, half under his breath.

But Sam heard. He couldn’t help the rush of guilt that caused his chest to hurt and his cheeks to flush with embarrassment. Any reminder of his behavior during that year-and-a-half that he spent on Earth without his soul was always painful.

Revisiting this case was going to be less than comfortable for both of them.

**//**//**

Elmwood had changed. Instead of the bustling, off-kilter UFO attraction it had been seven years ago, the place was quiet. Run-down. Many business had closed on the main street, and some of the windows were boarded up, giving off a sense of abandonment and failure that was frankly depressing.

When Sam and Dean checked in with the local sheriff, they discovered a sharp-tongued young woman had replaced the middle-aged man they knew a little too well.

“Sheriff Peterson had a heart-attack about five years ago,” the woman told them. “I’m Sheriff Scott. How can I help you boys?”

“These disappearances,” Sam said. “There seems to be a pattern. Something similar happened seven years ago, didn’t it?”

Sheriff Scott clenched her jaw, and for a moment Sam wasn’t sure she would answer. She glanced from one Winchester to the other, then at her deputy, who sat at his desk, studiously ignoring them but probably listening. When her eyes met his again, Sam could see she’d made up her mind.

“Let’s step into my office,” she suggested. “You boys want some coffee?”

“No, thank you. We’re good,” Dean answered as they followed the sheriff into her tiny office and took the chairs she offered.

Scott closed the door, then sat down behind the desk, facing them, folding her hands together on her desktop. Sam could read the worry in her eyes, imagined how challenging it had been for this young woman to fill the shoes of the older man they knew when they were here before. He could imagine she’d had to tread on a few toes to earn the respect she deserved, and it hadn’t been easy.

“The fact is, Sheriff Peterson’s heart-attack was brought on by the stress of those disappearances,” Scott said. “Those people were never found. No bodies, not even a trace. The entire community ganged up on him, demanding his resignation for incompetence. The media kept up the pressure, the crazies kept flocking to town, claiming UFO abductions. Eventually, he just cracked. After the circus died down, the town went into free-fall. The families of the abducted threatened lawsuits, but nothing ever came of it. Other families left out of fear or because their businesses were failing. It was like the whole town was cursed.”

Sam and Dean exchanged glances.

“Yeah, we noticed the place looks a little quiet,” Dean said.

“Quiet?” The sheriff scoffed. “Try dead. This place is basically a ghost town. The population is less than half of what it was five years ago. It gets any smaller, I’ll be out of a job.”

Sam nodded sympathetically. “And now, more disappearances.”

“Out on McClellan Road, about a mile out of town, just this side of Walnut Creek.” Scott took a deep breath, steeling herself. “There’s a grove of trees there, and folks like to stop and have a picnic during the day, other stuff at night. It’s never been a problem, really, till about a month ago. A couple stopped one evening to do their thing, and the next morning when they didn’t come home their folks called it in. All we found was the car and a blanket on the grass under the trees. No sign of struggle. They were just – gone.”

“Any chance somebody picked them up?” Dean asked. “Maybe gave them a ride somewhere?”

Scott shook her head. “This couple, they had family here. Jobs. Responsibilities. They wouldn’t just leave without letting anybody know.”

“And the other two people?”

“First was another couple, out-of-towners who were just passing through a couple of weeks ago. The woman survived. She said they saw a light in the trees and her husband got out of the car to investigate. Never came back.”

“And I don’t suppose this woman would have any reason to off her husband?”

“Not that we could figure out,” Scott said. “She’s still in town, if you want to interview her. She’s staying at the Red Lion Motel out on Route 8.”

“We’ll do that,” Sam said. “And how about the last victim?”

“Another traveler from out-of-town,” Scott said. “Insurance salesman, just passing through. About a week ago. Lou at the gas station says he stopped for gas about 7:30 in the evening. Next morning, a farmer from the next county was calling us to report an abandoned car on McClellan Road.”

“Let me guess,” Dean said. “Parked on the side of the road next to that same grove of trees.”

Scott nodded. “No sign of struggle, nothing to tell us why he stopped there, since he’d just fueled up in town. The guy’s from the Chicago area, lived alone. His co-workers and friends haven’t seen him, and we’ve got no other leads. We’re still hoping he decided to hitch a ride somewhere.”

Sam and Dean exchanged glances again, and Sam took a deep breath. They had to ask.

“Have you found anything in your investigations that might link these disappearances to the disappearances seven years ago?”

Scott looked at each of the Winchesters in turn before she answered. She had obviously considered it, as well as everything it might mean if she failed as badly as the former sheriff had done all those years ago.

“Nothing.” She shook her head. “Other than the first couple, they weren’t even from around here. And other than the light the third victim’s wife mentioned, there’s nothing to link these cases to the other disappearances.” Scott took a deep breath. “To be honest, I’m just glad it isn’t crop circles again. Maybe the UFO crazies will leave us alone this time.”

**//**//**

“So what are you thinking?” Sam asked when the brothers were back in the Impala.

“I think we should interview the families of the missing, then drive out to Walnut Creek to look around.”

“Dean...” Sam couldn’t help wishing they’d never come. He had a really bad feeling about this whole thing.

Dean could read Sam like a book. “We do the job, Sam,” he said gruffly. “Focus on the job.”

The family of the first missing couple were more than willing, even grateful, to talk to them.

“Finally, the FBI is getting involved,” one of the parents said. “It’s about time!”

Unfortunately, none of the missing couple’s parents had anything helpful to tell them.

The grieving widow of the third victim, Sandy Bennett, also had nothing. She was full of frustration with local law enforcement for not finding her husband, and she wasn’t going anywhere until they did. Other than that, her story sounded too familiar.

“We stopped by the bridge because it was so pretty there,” she said, shaky but determined. “The sun was setting, and we watched it for a few minutes until it got dark. Then we saw a light in the trees. At first we thought maybe it was a trick of the sun, the last rays hitting something reflective, you know? Eddie said he was going to check it out. He’d be right back. I said no, don’t go, but he laughed at me. Said he had to take a piss. I waited, watched as the light seemed to grow brighter, then it went out. All of a sudden I had a really bad feeling.”

She started crying softly, and Sam handed her a box of tissues, gently urging her to continue. He could feel Dean’s eyes on him, approving.

Sandy nodded, clearing her throat as she wiped her eyes. “I jumped out of the car and started yelling Eddie’s name. When he didn’t answer, I grabbed the flashlight out of the trunk and went into the trees to find him.” She paused again, wiping her eyes and swallowing thickly. “I already told the police. It’s all in the report.”

“I know this is difficult.” Sam handed her the glass of water that Dean had fetched from the kitchen. “We just need to hear it in your own words.”

Sandy took a deep breath, taking a sip of water before continuing. “After about an hour that felt like all night I called 911. Sheriff Scott said she’d come back in the morning, do a thorough search. I couldn’t believe it! I stayed right there all night, just in case he came back, you know? I didn’t want him to think I’d abandoned him.”

Sam and Dean exchanged glances. “And when he didn’t come back...”

“I booked myself into this motel,” Sandy said. “Sheriff Scott is sick of me because I call her every day. I did some investigating on my own, found out Eddie wasn’t the first disappearance, and now there’s been another one. What I don’t understand is, why hasn’t she called for back-up? Why is this the first time the feds have been here? That stretch of road should be closed until these people are found!”

Sandy sobbed out the last sentence, clenching her fists on her knees as if she wanted to hit something. Or someone.

“All right, Mrs. Bennett, we understand,” Dean said, full of bluff and reassurance. “We’ll take it from here. You can go home now.”

“I’m not an idiot, Agent Wyman,” Sandy said fiercely. “I know what the odds are of finding someone alive after they’ve been missing for two weeks. I’m not going anywhere until you find my husband, or figure out what happened to him.”

And Sam couldn’t find it in his heart to blame her.

**//**//**

“I hope she has deep pockets,” Dean commented when they were back in the car. “She may be waiting a while.”

“I kind of admire that,” Sam said. “She’s not giving up.” He grimaced, feeling a stab of guilt in his gut as soon as the words slipped out, and he glanced at Dean’s profile to see if he noticed.

“Well, she does have a point about Sheriff Scott,” Dean shrugged.

“You think Scott is in on it?” Sam hadn’t considered this.

“Well, if it is faeries, somebody had to summon them,” Dean pointed out.

“Yeah, but after the fiasco seven years ago, why would she do that? What does she get out of it?”

“I don’t know.” Dean shrugged. “Maybe she made a deal.”

“For what? To become the Most Failed Sheriff in Five Counties?” Sam shook his head. “I don’t know, man. I don’t see any signs of a deal here. At least not with Scott.”

Nevertheless, Sam made a call to Sheriff Scott as they drove out to Walnut Creek.

“Calling for back-up is pretty much standard procedure when you’ve got a pattern of missing persons,” Scott agreed. “Trouble is, we’re the laughing stock of every neighboring jurisdiction from here to Peoria. More unsolved missing persons cases per capita than Chicago. Nobody takes us seriously anymore. I’m just grateful the FBI’s here.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sam said. “Well, thank you.” He rolled his eyes as he ended the call, glancing at his brother’s profile. Dean’s jaw was set, his knuckles white as he clutched the wheel. “I guess that rules out the sheriff.”

The grove of trees at Walnut Creek offered no clues. Sam could see the appeal of the place as a romantic roadside stop, though. There was a sizeable shoulder to the road just before the bridge where cars had obviously stopped for years so the occupants could make out as they watched the sunset over the creek.

Dean was out of the car within seconds after parking, throwing Sam a disgusted frown, as if he could read Sam’s thoughts. Sam followed without comment as his brother made his way down the steep slope to the trees, vaguely frustrated by the tension between them. He could understand how this case would make Dean profoundly uneasy. He wished he could go back in time and fix it, prevent Dean from being abducted in the first place. Dean obviously still blamed Sam on some level for not grieving his loss more, for not being more like Sandy Bennett.

Of course, at the time, Sam hadn’t had his soul and didn’t feel much of anything. But that didn’t help Sam feel better now. If anything, it made him feel worse.

“This is where the lights were coming from,” Dean said. They stood in the center of the grove, and Sam could see that the trees stood in an almost perfect circle around the little grassy clearing. The grass was depressed in places, as if someone had put a blanket down and lain on it.

That thought made Sam intensely uncomfortable. When he glanced up at Dean, he could tell that Dean was having the same thought, imagining lovers lying on a blanket on the grass. Both brothers flushed and looked away.

“Awkward,” Dean muttered under his breath.

Sam studiously kept his eyes on the ground, searching for clues as he knew Dean must be doing. Unfortunately, his brain was working overtime, filling his mind with inappropriate thoughts and memories of the last time they were here, almost as if the grove itself had the power to instill its guests with romantic inclinations. Almost as if it was trying to seduce them.

_”I’m sorry, Dean, but I’m pretty sure I remember lusting after you since I was old enough to know what that meant.”_

They were in the motel, shortly after Castiel performed his painful invasion of Sam’s chest to reveal that his soul was missing. Now that they both knew what was wrong with him, Sam could think of no reason for hiding his lifelong desire for Dean any longer. He had trusted his ensouled self to have better instincts, especially where Dean is concerned, so he’d kept it secret this long, but now it just made no sense to him. 

Unfortunately, his revelation was causing Dean a lot of distress.

_“Shut up!”_ Dean yelled. _“Stop talking about it!”_

_“But I always thought you felt the same way,”_ Sam barreled on, unable to stop this line of thinking now that it had started. Besides, he was really horny. _“You want me, too, so what’s the problem?”_

_“The problem is that we’re brothers, Sam,”_ Dean growled. _“You lock that shit up, you hear me? You lock it up and you never, ever think about it.”_

_“Why?”_

_“Because it’s _wrong,_ okay? It’s wrong and it’s gross and it – it makes us even sicker and more fucked-up than we already are.”_

_“Exactly.”_ Sam enthused. _“We’re already fucked up in every possible way. So why do we have to pretend we don’t want to fuck each other? Isn’t that just – idiotic? I mean, when you think about it, all the times one of us hooks up with some random chick, we’re putting them in danger. Isn’t it safer and more practical if we just use each other when we want to have sex? Isn’t it easier?”_

_“No, Sam, it is not _easier_.”_ Dean shook his head. _“And it’s not practical, either. And if you were really you, you would never even think about it.”_

But Sam couldn’t stop thinking about it. Dean made him very, very horny, and if there was one thing he’d gotten used to over the past year-and-a-half since he came back from Hell, it was acting on his sexual impulses. He could remember himself before Hell, how restrained he was about sex, and all Sam could think was that his past self had been an idiot. Sex was good. It made Sam feel good. It made him _feel_ , period, which not many things did, and sometimes it helped when they were on a job and needed the witness to cooperate. 

Yet Sam respected Dean’s decision not to act on their mutual desire for each other, even if he didn’t understand it. Following his brother’s lead was the one thing that Sam was absolutely certain about. It was ingrained in him from before Hell, and it was something Sam held to afterwards, even without his soul. It felt right. 

Nevertheless, after Dean was abducted and escaped, Sam brought it up again because Dean seemed so shaken up. 

_“We could have sex,”_ Sam offered when Dean came out of the shower, towel wrapped around his waist, skin flushed and damp. _“It might help you relax.”_

_“What? No!”_ Dean rummaged in his duffle for fresh clothes, holding the towel in place with his other hand. _“Ew! Do you not see how that is exactly NOT the thing to say right now? No, you don’t, do you? Because you’re you and you have zero instincts.”_

After Sam got his soul back, he understood exactly why his timing had been so bad, and it made him flush with embarrassment. He wished his soulless self had known better, but of course he didn’t because he had no instinct, as Dean had said. And now that the cat was out of the bag, it took all of Sam’s energy to put it back where it belonged.

Buried deep.

Ensouled Sam would never have sex with a partner when he couldn’t love them, would never use his brother that way. Ensouled Sam would always respect Dean’s need to pretend they weren’t hot for each other.

That was the way Dean wanted it, so that’s what Sam did.

“Well, I got bupkis,” Dean said after spending nearly twenty minutes combing the ground beneath the trees. “And I’m starving. I say we go back into town, find us some greasy diner food, and come back here after dark.”

Sam nodded, not daring to speak for fear of revealing too much about where his mind had been. Better to let Dean think he hadn’t been thinking about sex at all.

**//**//**

They were coming out of the diner that evening when Sam noticed a familiar figure across the street, locking up a storefront.

“Hey, Dean, isn’t that Marion? You know, the wacky trailer-park lady with the teeny-tiny tea cups?”

Dean squinted in the gloom. Her shop was the only one on the street that wasn’t closed and boarded up. In fact, it looked like it was prospering, with freshly painted signs and sparkly window decorations. The Winchesters watched the woman pocket her keys and walk away down the sidewalk toward the residential neighborhood behind the shop.

“How do you even remember her?” Dean shook his head.

“Well, she did get glitter all over your backside.” Sam snickered. “That’s not easy to forget.”

Dean scowled. “Shut up. Okay, you follow crazy-lady, I’ll go check out the tree circle.”

“It’s probably a faerie ring, Dean, so you’re not going out there without me,” Sam glowered, giving Dean a look he hoped Dean wouldn’t argue with.

Dean didn’t. He glanced at Sam and flinched, and Sam could see he’d won. “We’d cover more ground if we split up,” he muttered, but they were already headed after Marion on foot, shoulder-to-shoulder.

“Oh yeah, just like last time. Remember how well that turned out for us?”

“Seems to me it worked out fine for _you_ ,” Dean shrugged. “Hey, you should look her up while we’re here.”

“Look who up?” Sam was confused.

“Hippie chick. Remember her? The one you were having the hot time with while I was shooting my way out of fairy-land?”

“Sparrow,” Sam snapped, annoyed at the reminder. “Her name was Sparrow.”

“Of course it was.” Dean rolled his eyes.

Sam was ready with a sharp retort, boiling with indignation and shame, but they had already rounded the corner into a residential neighborhood, and Dean gestured for him to stop.

Marion was climbing the front steps of the most impressive home on the block, noticeably nicer than any of the other homes. Marion’s house looked well-cared for, flowerbeds bursting with colorful blooming flowers, lawn neatly tended and mowed. The white picket fence was sturdy, freshly painted, and climbing with vines that had little purple flowers growing on them.

“Is it just me, or does it look like Crazy-Lady’s moved up in the world?” Dean asked softly as they watched Marion let herself into the house and close the door behind her.

“Yeah.” Sam nodded. “There’s magic at work here.”

Dean frowned. “How do you know that?”

“It’s early March in Indiana,” Sam said. “She shouldn’t have a yard full of summer flowers yet.”

“Right.” Dean was impressed, then he smirked. “Nerd.”

Sam huffed out his annoyance. “Well, at least we know who our deal-maker is. We should talk to her.”

He started across the street but Dean stopped him. “Dude, wait. I think we need to gather more evidence first.”

“Evidence? What are you talking about?”

“We should stick to the plan, man,” Dean insisted. “The tree circle after dark, remember? Let’s get out there and see if we find anything. Then tomorrow we change into FBI agents and interview Crazy-Lady at her store.”

Sam hesitated. “Don’t you think she’ll recognize us? We were posing as newspaper reporters before.”

“So we were undercover,” Dean shrugged. “It’s not the first time. Besides, we need to check out her store, see if we can find that spell book. If it’s not there, then one of us needs to keep her busy tomorrow while the other one searches her house.”

Sam had to agree that Marion seemed to be their most likely suspect. “She just didn’t strike me as the kind of person who would make deals with faeries,” he said as they walked back to the car.

“Power and wealth can change a person,” Dean reminded him. “If she found that book, learned how to use it, it could change her life. She was living in a freakin’ trailer park, man. Bottom of the barrel. If she had a chance to change that, don’t you think she could be tempted?”

Sam shook his head as he folded himself into the Impala’s passenger seat. “She just seemed like such a harmless kook,” he said. “Not like somebody who would be willing to sacrifice people for a little prosperity.”

“People, man.” Dean shook his head. “You just never know with people. Monsters, I get. But people are complicated.”

Sam glanced at Dean’s profile as the car roared to life. He was grateful, not for the first time, that Dean was his moral compass. Sam didn’t do well without Dean’s steady influence.

Without Dean at his side, Sam was pretty sure he would’ve gone off the rails years ago. That alone was worth a lifetime of unrequited lust, wasn’t it?

**//**//**

By the time they got back to the elm grove it was already fully dark. They had wasted precious time following Marion, so it was well after sunset now, later than the times of the disappearances. Sam wasn’t sure they’d find anything, but as Dean eased the car onto the shoulder he leaned forward over the steering wheel, squinting into the gloom.

“Oh, no way,” he breathed, and Sam frowned in confusion. He stared in the direction of Dean’s gaze but saw only darkness.

“What?”

Dean glanced at him, surprised. “Don’t you see him?”

“See who?” Sam stared hard, but all he could see was the shadow of the trees against absolute darkness.

“It’s that guy in the red beanie,” Dean said. “The one that I beat the crap out of in the jail cell. He’s staring straight at me, and he’s got –– Son of a bitch!”

“Dean, what – “ Sam was still squinting, straining to see something in the dark when the driverside door creaked open and Dean jumped out, pulling his gun as he ran down the bank toward the trees. “Dean! Wait!”

Everything happened fast. Sam had barely jumped out of the car to follow his brother when Dean reached the grove of trees and plunged inside, out of Sam’s sight.

“Dean!” Fighting sudden panic, Sam half-slid, half-ran down the steep slope. He barely made it to the trees before a flash of light momentarily blinded him.

“Dean!” Sam flung an arm up to shield his eyes, blinking and squinting against the glare, cringing at the sensation of ringing in his ears. The ringing gave way to a sound like tiny glass bells tinkling, creating music that Sam’s brain couldn’t quite process.

Then the light went out.

“Dean!” Sam crashed into the grove, eyes still partially blinded, ears ringing. “Oh no no no no. Dean!”

But Sam knew, before he’d even started looking, that Dean was gone.

“Dean!” Sam stood in the center of the circle, turning around, straining for any sound or glimmer of light, although he knew in his gut that the faeries wouldn’t come back. They had what they wanted.

“Come back!” Sam bellowed. “Take me, you bastards! Take me instead!”

He crashed frantically around the clearing, stumbling in the dark, falling to his knees more than once on the spongy grass before he finally gave up and returned to the car for a flashlight.

“Oh no. No no no no no.” It became a mantra, mostly to keep himself company, but also because denial was all he had left. To have fucked up so royally as to let Dean run right into disaster, when he’d sworn to himself and to Dean that he’d protect him...

This was Sam’s worst nightmare. Right here. This.

Nevertheless, he refused to break down, refused to cry no matter how much he felt like crying. His chest heaved with gasps that would not become full-fledged sobs, his hands shook as he forced the flashlight beam to cover each and every inch of the faerie circle.

He should have warned Dean. He should have explained how faerie circles worked. Maybe Dean would have been more cautious. Maybe this wouldn’t have happened.

After searching the clearing for over an hour and finding no sign of Dean or, in fact, any sign that anything had changed since the brothers had searched the clearing earlier in the day, Sam knew he needed to admit defeat. But he couldn’t. Not yet. Dean had come back before dawn last time; maybe luck would be on their side and he would do so again.

A sick feeling in Sam’s gut told him that was asking too much. Faerie had let Dean go once. They weren’t likely to make the same mistake twice.

It took all of Sam’s strength not to collapse. He wanted to stay in the circle all night, as Sandy Bennett had done when her husband had disappeared. He knew that was useless, knew Dean was as likely to return tonight as they were likely to find those missing people. Nevertheless, he couldn’t stand to leave, couldn’t bear the idea of going back to their lonely motel room without Dean. Sam couldn’t handle his own failure. Not just yet.

He considered calling Sheriff Scott to report another disappearance, but he couldn’t stand to do that, either. He and Dean had come here to help this town. Adding to their grief and sense of failure wouldn’t help anybody.

“Fuckin’ idiot,” Sam swore at his absent brother. “You had to do it, didn’t you? You had to try to kill that faerie, just because he beat you up last time. They lured you in with the promise of revenge, and you took the bait. Jerk!”

They should never have come. Sam should have insisted. This was all Sam’s fault.

Sam slipped to his knees on the spongy ground, wallowing in self-pity and self-hatred, chest heaving as he fought back tears. He knelt there for the better part of an hour before the voice in his head started to sound like Dean’s.

_Shut up, Sam. Get it together, man! You know what to do. Treat this like any other case. Now come on. You can do this._

It didn’t matter whose fault it was.

Sam lifted his head, took a deep breath. He stared up at the star-lit sky, knowing God wasn’t listening, even if he did pray. Sam set his jaw, closed his eyes, and channeled every ounce of his single-focused, stubborn Winchester will-power.

As he felt the strength of his own determination flow through his veins, he opened his eyes and glared fiercely at the empty clearing.

Self-pity was for amateurs. Sam had a job to do.

It was near dawn when Sam climbed the bank to the road and folded himself into the driver’s seat of the Impala. He adjusted the bench for his long legs, forcing himself not to think about how happily he crammed himself into the passenger seat most of the time. He didn’t think about how wrong it felt to slip the spare key into the ignition. Nevertheless, he waited another ten minutes. Dean had returned a little after 4:00 the last time, having spent the better part of an hour walking back to town. If that happened again, Sam didn’t want to leave him out here on his own.

At 4:07 Sam turned the key in the ignition, waited for the car to warm up before he turned her around and drove slowly back to town.


	2. Chapter 2

**//**//**

He was too keyed up to sleep, so he decided to check out Marion’s shop, as she was unlikely to be there this early.

“Marion’s Treasures and Trinkets,” read the sign over the storefront, but Sam barely took time to glance into the front windows at the display cases full of yard gnomes, porcelain dolls, china and other antiques. It was everything he’d already seen in her trailer seven years ago, only more of it. Slipping around to a side door in the alley beside the building, Sam easily picked the lock and let himself into the back of the store. He briefly considered that Marion might have an alarm, but there was no sign of a keypad near the door, no telltale beeping. Most likely, Marion figured she didn’t have anything anyone would want to steal.

Sam had to agree with her there. The store was crammed full of the same kind of bric-o-brac that had adorned her trailer, each with a little hand-written price tag attached. The storeroom contained box after box of the same items, some with shipping labels. Marion appeared to be doing a brisk mail order business in addition to collecting more of the little statues from all over the country. Her work table was covered with cleaning and paint supplies, and Sam could imagine Marion spending hours touching up the little figurines before putting them out for sale.

There was no sign of the spell book, although Sam found a safe tucked into a corner of the back room. It looked familiar, and Sam was betting it was the one from Brennan’s watch store. However, when he managed to crack it, all it contained was extra cash and a few pieces of antique jewelry that might actually have value.

There were no saucers of cream on the floor, but Sam supposed Marion really didn’t need any little helpers for this kind of business. The miracle was that she made enough money to stay open at all. That, in itself, could be evidence of black magic at work, he decided.

He would need to search Marion’s house, which he should wait to do after she wasn’t there, later in the day. He could talk to her, but if she _was_ the one who had summoned the faeries, he didn’t want her to know he was onto her yet. For the time being, all Sam could do was wait.

The sky was lightening as Sam let himself out the back door of the shop into the alley. The thought of going back to the motel to catch a few hours sleep was unbearable without Dean, although he knew it was what Dean would want him to do. Dean would want him to sleep, then eat. Keep his strength up and his mind sharp.

But if Sam went back to the motel right now he knew that he wouldn’t be able to sleep. He would lie in the dark, suffering. And right now, every minute counted. Time moved differently in Faerie, and the longer Dean was there, the harder it would be to get him home again.

He drove out to the faerie circle for another thorough search, this time in daylight. The morning light left strange shadows in the grove, not the warm, welcoming glow of the previous afternoon. Sam shivered as he paced the ground, looking for signs of Dean’s disappearance. A damp breeze touched the back of his neck and it almost felt like someone’s breath.

He felt watched, mocked.

 _Shut up._ The voice in his head was sharp. You’re gonna make yourself crazy. Stick to the job.

By the time he got back to town, it was still too early for Marion’s shop to open. Sam figured his next move was to search her house for the faerie spell book, preferably without her in it, so he still had a couple of hours to kill.

The diner was open for breakfast, so Sam made himself eat. He read up on instances of people returning from Faerie as he ignored the waitress’s obvious interest in him. The outlook was not good. All of Sam’s sources said the same thing: the longer a person spent in Faerie, the harder it was to leave. And even if the person returned to the real world, they usually spent the rest of their lives pining for Faerie, often not eating or sleeping, until they literally wasted away, often to death.

Sam’s anxiety level was rising with each minute that ticked by, but he forced himself to return to the motel, where he showered and changed clothes, then lay down on the bed for a brief nap.

He had barely closed his eyes when his sleep-deprived brain plunged him into a deep, restless sleep. In a dream-like state his skin tingled, making his dick twitch, and he was aware of a sense of profound loss and longing. Images of Dean running down the slope toward the faerie circle flashed in front of his closed eyes. He saw Dean disappear into the dark trees, saw the light growing brighter until Sam was blinded.

He put his arm up to shield his eyes, as he had before, only this time when he lowered his arm, Dean was there. Except everything was different. Dean was clad in leather breeches and boots and a loose, white tunic that was open at the neck and bound at the waist by a black leather belt. He looked like a character from one of Charlie’s live-action role-playing games, only hotter.

They were standing in the clearing in the tree grove by Walnut Creek, but it was different. There was a brightness about the colors, as if they were standing in a photograph that had been touched-up. The grass and trees were unnaturally green, the sky a strangely deep blue, like looking up at the sun from underwater. Even Dean seemed brighter, sharper, more beautiful.

Dean stared at him as if he were seeing a ghost, wide, green eyes shining with emotion, expressive features displaying a look of shocked surprise.

“Oh my God, Sammy! What are you doing here, man?”

In that way of dreams, one moment suddenly became the next, and Sam found himself in Dean’s arms, holding his brother close and tight, bodies pressed together in that desperate way that they only did before or after a long separation.

It felt like months since they had been together. Years.

“Yeah, yeah, Dean. Yeah. I’m trying to find you, man. Trying to get you back.”

Dean pulled back, still holding onto Sam’s biceps, and stared, frowning with confusion. 

“You’re not really here, are you? This isn’t real.”

“No,” Sam admitted, sadness overwhelming him for a moment, making tears fill his eyes, choking his voice. “No. What happened to you? Where are you?”

Dean pulled back, stepping out of Sam’s reach. He blushed and looked away, shuffling his feet uncomfortably, and Sam tried not to think about how adorable he was, how like a little boy who’d been caught doing something naughty he looked.

“When I saw that red-cap dick, I went crazy, man. I was sure I could catch him. He was mocking me! I swear to God, Sammy, that dude needed me to teach him a lesson, and I couldn’t stop myself. I almost caught him, but then the light...And then I was here.” Dean waved his arm around. “In Magic Kingdom Land, where everything is just a little too shiny to be real, you know?”

Sam nodded, swallowing hard. “So what’s with the Robin Hood costume?”

Dean blushed harder. “They’ve got me in some kind of warrior training program. I’m supposed to become one of the king’s guards. When they saw what I can do, they assigned me to the top ranks. In a couple more years, I’ll be top dog around here. At least, that’s their plan.”

Something was deeply wrong about that, and Sam focused hard through the fog in his dreaming brain to grab onto it. “Dean, this is important. Have you eaten anything since you arrived in Faerie?”

Dean shrugged. “I don’t think I could’ve survived all these years if I hadn’t,” he said. “Why?”

“Years?” Sam’s veins flooded with ice-water. “How long have you been here?”

Dean’s frowned deepened, and Sam caught a brief look of confusion cross his face before he answered. “At least ten years, Sam. Damn it!” He lifted his eyes again, and the expression there was one of pure panic. “Hey, you have to get me out of here, man. I’m not even sure what’s real anymore. Sometimes I think I remember things we used to do, hunts we were on, but then I realize it’s something I did here last year with Oberon’s minions...I don’t even know anymore, man. You gotta get me out of here!”

“Yeah, okay, calm down.” Sam put his hands out, placating. The dream was starting to fade. “Okay, listen. I need you to stay with me, Dean. I need you to remember who you are, okay? I’ll be there as soon as I can...”

“Hurry, Sam,” Dean said, but his voice was fading. The sky was growing dark, as if the sun was setting. “Please! You gotta hurry!”

Sam woke with a start. Sun was shining directly into the room, on the bed where Dean slept two nights ago.

“Son of a bitch,” Sam breathed. He shook his head to clear it, running his hands through his hair and scratching his scalp to scrub away the fog in his brain. Fragments of the dream lingered in his mind like so many shards of broken glass, making his head throb and the backs of his eyes ache. It felt for all the world like the remnants of one of his visions.

He didn’t dare dismiss the dream; it had been too real, too true. He wondered vaguely if his soul bond with Dean was strong enough to pierce the veil between this world and Faerie, at least on a psychic level. It had never worked that way before, when Dean had disappeared into Purgatory and Sam had been desperate to find him. But maybe the veil between the worlds was so thin here in Elmwood that it was easier to break through. And although Sam didn’t like to think about it too deeply, his psychic ability might have something to do with it, giving the connection just enough extra power for Sam and Dean to communicate, at least on an unconscious level.

Whatever the reason, Sam was certain that he had just had a real conversation with his missing brother, and the news was not good.

**//**//**

Later, Sam would think back and realize that he’d been in no condition to make rational decisions that morning. He should’ve followed his original plan to search Marion’s house, ignoring the impulse to confront her right then and there.

But Sam wasn’t exactly feeling rational. The idea that Dean had already spent over ten years in Faerie, had already eaten the food there, had already started to forget his real life, terrified Sam.

It was just after 10:00 a.m. when he burst into Marion’s shop.

“Where’s my brother?”

To her credit, the plump, diminutive woman behind the counter barely batted an eye at the six-and-a-half-foot hunter who bore down on her, huffing like an angry bull.

“Why hello, Sam,” she smiled delightedly. “I’ve been wondering when you would stop by.”

“You made a deal, didn’t you?” Sam glowered at her, clenching his fists. He couldn’t remember feeling so angry, although he was sure there’d been other times. “You found Brennan’s book and you summoned the faeries. You made a deal!”

“The faeries were very grateful.” Marion nodded, still smiling. “And they have been most generous in return.”

“They took my brother!” Sam bellowed. “Again!”

“Oh Sam, I’m so sorry,” Marion crooned, sounding sincerely concerned. “You should never have come back here. Dean was marked.”

“No shit! Now give him back!”

“Oh dear, I wish I could.” Marion shook her head sadly. “I really do. But Oberon _chose_ him. Your brother is a talented warrior. He’s part of the King’s Guard now. It’s a very special position. Dean’s very lucky.”

Sam had definitely never been angrier in his entire life, and that was saying something. His rage rolled over him in waves, making it hard to see clearly through the red clouds over his vision.

“You either make them give him back, or I will personally break every little piece of Hummel wanna-be crap in this shop.” Sam’s voice was low and steady. He wanted to make sure Marion could have no doubts about his threat.

It worked. Marion’s eyes grew round with distress. “Oh dear, I can’t let you do that,” she said. She flicked her wrist, her bracelets making a sound like tiny bells tinkling, and Sam had just enough time to realize he was blacking out.

Then everything went dark.

**//**//**

When he came to, Sam was lying on a dusty cement floor, his arms and ankles securely bound with rope, a gag in his mouth. The room was dimly lit by daylight from two very small windows, both barred. Paintings in ancient frames hung on the walls, and a dusty table and some shelves covered with pieces of broken pottery were the only furnishings. A staircase led up into darkness.

“You should’ve stayed away.” Marion’s voice was behind him, and Sam had to twist his neck to look up at her, which made his bindings tighten almost painfully. “Oberon claimed Dean as his own. Now you will join him. Oberon will be very pleased to have another well-trained warrior in his ranks.”

Sam struggled again, crying out against the gag when the ropes bit painfully into his wrists and ankles.

“I’m sorry for the ropes, Sam, but I know how resourceful you are, and I can’t take a chance that you might escape. My boys will be here just before sunset to load you into your car and drive you out to the Circle. By the time you get to Faerie, Dean won’t even remember your name. He’ll be fully transformed, one of Oberon’s closest companions.”

She paced into Sam’s line of sight, gazing down at him almost pityingly. “Your brother will kill you before he’ll let you harm his king. His lover. Oh yes, Sam. You’ll be far too late.”

Marion shook her head. “You underestimated me last time, Sam. Badly. I’m really very clever, you see. When I opened the door to Faerie again, I was richly rewarded. Now I have long life, riches, and deep magic at my beck and call. I’m a powerful sorceress now.”

Marion turned toward the stairs, put her hand on the railing, and Sam panicked. He struggled wildly against his bindings, yelled into the gag until Marion turned back, tilting her head quizzically at him.

“Don’t hurt yourself trying to break free, Sam,” she advised. “This room is carefully be-spelled to keep you in, so even if you do manage to untie yourself, the room won’t let you leave. But just in case, I left some food and water on the table and a bucket in the corner if you need to relieve yourself.”

Sam glared at her, and Marion chuckled fondly. “I’m not an _evil_ witch, Sam. I’m one of the good ones, really. You’d have seen that if you hadn’t threatened to destroy my shop. Now try to relax and enjoy your day off. You’ll see your brother soon.”

Sam yelled and fought to free himself as Marion climbed the stairs. As soon as the heavy door at the top had clanged shut, locks sliding into place from the other side, Sam began struggling in earnest. He could feel his knife still tucked into his right boot, the comforting metal pressed hard against his ankle. The fact that Marion hadn’t removed all his weapons gave Sam hope.

It took Sam only a few minutes to contort himself enough to reach his knife, then cut himself free. The room was another matter. The bars on the windows were solid iron, embedded deeply in concrete and unshakeable, not to mention the small size of the windows probably wouldn’t have accommodated his large frame. Similarly the door at the top of the stairs was made of solid iron and locked from the outside. There was no getting out that way.

As Sam turned away in defeat, he discovered a light switch on the wall. Flipping it on flooded the basement room with light, illuminating the paintings on the walls. A movement caught his eye, and Sam jumped, startled to discover that the paintings themselves appeared to be moving inside their frames. Sam crept cautiously down the stairs, peering at the strange paintings, all of which appeared to be scenes from Faerie, complete with abnormally brightly-colored landscapes like the one in Sam’s dream.

At the bottom of the stairs he stopped in shock, rooted to the spot by the painting on the wall at the edge of the stairs. A rider on a black horse rode directly toward the viewer, sporting the leather breeches and boots that Dean had worn in Sam’s dream, but also a fine red velvet robe and a crown on his tawny head.

Sam gasped as the rider drew close enough to see gossamer wings sprouting prominently from the rider’s back. Emerald green eyes shone too brightly from a face at once familiar and excessively beautiful, as if the rider’s natural good looks had been artificially exaggerated. The rider in the painting had been enhanced, just like the landscape.

It was Dean, but it wasn’t Dean.

“Dean.” Sam stopped himself from touching the painting itself out of a superstitious fear that this was all that was left of Dean in the real world, that touching it might make it disappear just as its subject had.

The rider’s abnormally bright green eyes gazed straight at him, almost as if he could see through the fourth wall of the painting and into Sam’s soul.

A shiver ran up Sam’s spine. He reluctantly dragged his gaze away from the painting so that he could take a look at the other paintings. Each contained a figure, and as Sam looked carefully from one to the next, he began to develop a theory. Some of the paintings depicted a rider on a horse with faerie wings, but none were as gloriously bright and enhanced as the Dean-figure. It occurred to Sam that if he were to compare the pictures of missing persons over the years here in Elmwood, he would find a painting that matched each missing person.

“But what the hell does it mean?”

As soon as the words slipped in a whisper from his lips, Sam knew. Somehow the paintings themselves contained the magic that held their subjects captive. If Sam could figure out a way to release the figures from their paintings...

_It’s a Harry Potter moment, Sam. Totally your thing._

If Dean had been in the room, the words could not have been clearer or sounded more like him.

As if on cue, Sam’s phone vibrated.

Without stopping to consider how fortunate it was that Marion had managed to (mostly) disarm him but had not bothered to take his phone, Sam fumbled in his jeans pocket, pulled out the little device and checked the screen.

Rowena.

“A little mouse told me you might need my help, Samuel,” she cooed when Sam opened the connection. “You seem to be surrounded by magic.”

Sam tamped down his initial instinct to brush her off, clenching his teeth as he stared at the portrait of Dean. “I’m not even going to ask how you know that,” he said. “Or why you’ve been checking on my whereabouts.”

“Let’s just say, I feel the need to keep an eye on the man who’ll be the death of me, one day,” Rowena said, flirtatious as always. “Besides. This level of magic is a mite unusual. It’s as if you’re on the edge of another world. You’re not in outer space, are you, Samuel? Or at the White House, perhaps?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “I’m in Elmwood, Indiana. Trapped in a basement. Do you know anything about faerie binding spells?”

“Faeries, is it?” Rowena sounded delighted. “Why didn’t you say so? I’ll be there directly.”

“No — you don’t have to come, just give me the spell – “ But of course it was too late. Rowena had ended the call.

Sam had barely finished circling the room, gazing into each portrait in turn before returning to the one containing his brother, before he heard the bolt sliding back on the room’s only door. Rowena wore a red velvet dress and heels, of course, but she seemed to glide down the dingy basement steps, comical in her dainty disdain for the room’s dust and decor.

“Well, I’ll admit this wasn’t quite what I was expecting,” she announced as she dusted her hands off delicately. “The magic emanating from this room makes it seem like a veritable hotbed of ancient spell work. I was expecting a castle, or a medieval fortress. Not this dingy cellar.”

Sam ignored her. “They’ve got Dean.” He gestured at the painting, and Rowena turned to follow his gaze. The green-eyed rider stared out at Rowena, fierce and defiant, as if he was daring her to be helpful, against all her natural inclinations.

“Well now, isn’t this a pretty predicament,” Rowena enthused, reaching out to run her fingers along the edge of the painting before Sam could stop her.

“Don’t – “ He stepped forward to grab her arm on instinct, but drew back when nothing happened. She let her fingers linger over the surface of the painting before turning back to Sam.

“Well, there’s no getting him out of there, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she said.

“There has to be a way,” Sam protested. “I dreamed about him last night, trapped in there. I have to get him out!”

Rowena screwed up her forehead, thoughtful. “You sure you don’t want to join him in there? They like to collect strong young men such as yourself. To serve Oberon and whatnot. I’m sure you’d be a fine addition to his entourage. You and your brother both.”

Sam shot her a look that Dean knew well, and Rowena rolled her eyes. “Oh, very well,” she huffed. “I do know a spell. It only lasts for an hour, mind you, and I’ll need a piece of your soul to power it. But it’ll keep the door open between this world and Faerie so you can get out again, as long as you go out where you went in.”

“And I can bring Dean out with me,” Sam clarified.

“Oh, you can bring anyone you like,” Rowena shrugged. “If you can get them to leave.”

“What are you talking about? Why wouldn’t he want to leave?” Sam knew. He just had a perverse need to hear her confirm it.

“You really don’t know how it works, do you, Samuel?” Rowena shook her head. “Faerie is a powerful place. It starts working on your senses as soon as you arrive, breaking down your memories of your old life and filling your mind with sights, smells, tastes that will be more intense than anything you’ve ever known in this world. Pretty soon, you won’t remember your old life at all, and you certainly won’t want to go back.”

“But the effects can be reversed, right?” Sam asked.

“You’ve heard about that part, have you?” Rowena’s smile was grim. “Those who return from Faerie usually waste away, pining to go back. That’s the story, anyway. If you succeed in bringing your brother back, you may not like what happens next.”

“We’ll deal with it.” Sam gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. “Now just get me in there.”

“Oh you poor boy, don’t you know there’s only one way in?” When Sam looked blank, Rowena rolled her eyes. “The faerie circle, Samuel. That’s the door in. You’ll have to wait till sunset, then it’ll open for you. By the looks of things, I’d say they’re expecting you.”

“So I have to walk right into their trap.”

“I suppose you could say that,” Rowena agreed. “Only, you’ll be ready, won’t you? You’ll be armed, and you’ll be protected from memory loss by my wee potion. Once you’re in, you’ll have an hour to rescue your brother and get out before the spell fades, trapping you both in Faerie forever.”

Sam raised his eyebrows. “And why would you want to prevent that outcome?” He asked. “Why help me? If I’m stuck in there, doesn’t that make it impossible for me to be the instrument of your death?”

Rowena sighed dramatically. “Oh Samuel, you really don’t understand these things, do you?” she asked. “My death is already fated. Nothing can change that. If you’re stuck in Faerie, it’ll be that much harder for me to keep an eye on you. And once you forget who I am, I lose any influence I might have had over you. It’s much easier to kill a stranger than a kindred spirit, isn’t it?”

Sam thought about that for a moment, then nodded. “Fair enough. Let’s do this.”

Sam couldn’t bear to leave the painting, so they brought it with them, out of the dingy basement under Marion’s shop. No one stopped them, although two of Marion’s human henchmen lay sleeping peacefully a couple of feet from the basement door.

“So much for loyal guard duty,” Rowena remarked as she stepped over one of the bodies. “Don’t worry; they’re just sleeping. Nobody died. See? I’m learning.”

The shop itself was deserted, but Sam barely spared a thought for Marion or her minions. Getting Dean out of Faerie was the goal, and nothing else mattered for now. He found his gun lying in plain sight on a table near the door, but he didn’t stop to think about how convenient that was, either.

They picked up the ingredients for the spell at a local pharmacy, then drove to the motel. Sam pulled an iron stake and a small bag of salt out of the trunk of the Impala before following Rowena into the room.

“This will just hurt a bit,” Rowena promised as she laid her hand on his chest.

The pain was excruciating. Sam barely had time to consider that he was about to pass out before it was over, leaving behind a dull ache in his chest.

“Just a wee bit of Sam-soul,” Rowena said as she dropped something small and glowing into the spell bowl. “This is to guarantee your safe return, as long as you’re back at the faerie circle within the hour. And this,” Rowena pulled out a vial of something green and viscous, “is to prevent memory loss.”

Sam took the glass vial and held it up to the light, curling his lip in disgust. “What is it?”

“Better not to know,” Rowena acknowledged briskly. “Just hold your nose and suck it down, lickety-split, just before you walk into the faerie circle. Should last the hour.”

“Aren’t you coming with me?”

“Oh my no, Samuel,” Rowena shook her head. “There’s a sorceress in town who’s been causing a wee bit of trouble, don’t you know. Seems to me she needs a reminder about how real witches operate without calling quite so much attention to themselves.”

Sam experienced a moment of trepidation as he considered that Marion was unlikely to survive her confab with Rowena. Then he thought about what she had done to Dean and the others and he realized he was fine with it. Let Rowena strip Marion of her powers, or even her life, if she wanted. All that mattered now was getting Dean back.

The spell itself took only a few moments to take effect; Sam could feel a tiny tugging sensation in his chest which grew stronger when he started to leave the room.

“You should eat something,” Rowena told him as they left the motel.

Sam frowned. “But I’m not hungry,” he said.

“You will be,” Rowena assured him. “And if you eat or drink while you’re in Faerie, all bets are off. Better to go in on a full stomach.”

Sam nodded, already feeling hunger pangs that had nothing to do with the need for food.

“You’ll be needing this as well,” Rowena said in farewell. She handed Sam an old-fashioned pocket watch on a gold chain. When Sam released the latch, the cover popped open to reveal a stop-watch. “Start the clock just before you step into the circle,” the witch instructed. “Time moves differently in Faerie, but this watch will keep track of the spell time you have left. Just be sure you check it regularly. Time doesn’t just move faster or slower in Faerie. It moves _differently_ altogether.”

Sam nodded, closing the watch and slipping it into his jeans pocket.

“Thank you,” he said, almost without thinking about who it was he was thanking.

“Oh, don’t thank me till you’re back safe and sound,” Rowena admonished. “It’s bad luck.”

Sam nodded again. He knew a thing or two about bad luck, after all.

**//**//**

It was nearly sunset by the time Sam pulled over and parked the car at the appointed spot overlooking Walnut Creek. He tucked his gun, loaded with witch-killing bullets, into the back of his waistband as a precaution. He expected Rowena had already dealt with Marion, but just in case. He checked that the little vial of green goo was in his shirt pocket, the bag of salt in his jacket pocket, and the watch still secure deep in the front pocket of his jeans. Then he pulled out the iron stake and slid it up inside the arm of his jacket, ready to use in a flash if necessary, and made his way down the bank toward the little copse of trees.

The sunset was particularly lovely, sending slivers of gold and red across the clearing, making the water dance with light. Sam stopped just outside the faerie circle and pulled out the vial and stopwatch, awkwardly uncorking the little bottle with his thumb. He threw back his head and sucked down the vile liquid in a single movement, willing himself not to gag at the feel of it sliding wetly down his throat. Too late, he wished he had brought something to wash it down with; it felt stuck in his throat, sliding too slowly down his esophagus. He cleared his throat several times, swallowing his own saliva in an attempt to wash away the rancid aftertaste.

A flash of light caught his attention, and Sam looked up, thinking it was a trick of the sun as it sank below the horizon. A figure stood on the other side of the clearing, tall and muscled, with long flowing hair and something on his back that looked like a quiver of arrows.

Or wings.

“Dean?” He’d know those bowed legs anywhere, even clad in leather breeches and knee-high leather boots. The man’s chest was bare, arms wound with leather cuffs at the wrists and biceps, and in one hand he held a long, deadly-looking blade.

“Sam?”

At the broken sound of Dean’s voice, Sam almost forgot the stopwatch. Maybe this would be easier than he’d thought. Dean was alone, there was no sign of anyone else. Maybe he and Dean could just _leave._

Sam took a step forward before it hit him.

Dean was bait. Dean was here to lure Sam into Faerie.

Staying where he was, rooted to a spot just outside the circle, Sam fixed Dean with his most pleading expression, willing him to listen.

“Hey buddy,” he coaxed. “Yeah, it’s me. The car’s parked just up the hill. Let’s get out of here, okay?”

Dean cocked his head. “Do I know you?”

Sam’s heart sank, but he swallowed hard and soldiered on.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Yeah, you do. You just said my name, remember? It’s me. It’s Sam.”

“Sam?” Dean took several steps forward, his expression at once hopeful and confused. “Is it really you? But you’re not real. You’re somebody I made up. I dreamed about you. How can you be real?”

Sam reached into his pocket, grasped the stopwatch, and pushed the button. Then he stepped into the faerie circle.

“I’m real, Dean,” he said softly. “I’m really here. I’ve come to rescue you.”

“Rescue me?” Dean blinked. “From what?”

Sam took another step, keeping his eyes locked with Dean’s. Closer now, he could see that Dean’s eyes were unusually bright, his skin glittering faintly. He was so beautiful it was hard to look at him.

“This place, it isn’t real,” Sam said. “You don’t belong here.”

“That so?” Dean frowned, puffing out his chest and striking a defensive pose that Sam recognized. “Where do I belong, then?”

“Out there,” Sam gestured toward the car. “In the real world. With me.”

“That so?” Dean repeated with a snort. “You know, I’d go just about anywhere with you, big guy. But first, I’m going to need you to come with me.”

And just like that, Sam felt himself move forward, compelled to obey. His muscles moved of their own accord until he stood toe-to-toe with Dean, who sheathed his sword with a slight smile and nodded.

“That’s it,” he said. “Don’t look so freaked out. It’s just magic. It’s not like I can read your mind or anything. Now come on. Follow me.”

Dean turned and led the way out of the faerie circle, Sam following helplessly behind. Sam couldn’t keep his eyes off the wings that appeared randomly on Dean’s back, then disappeared again, fading against his glittering skin like a shadow. He felt tired and energized at the same time, mesmerized by Dean’s beauty. His _glamour,_ Sam’s mind provided helpfully. Dean had glamoured him, and now Sam was under his spell. The thought was making Sam’s blood throb in his veins, making his dick swell.

“Where are we going?” It was an effort to speak, and when Dean glanced over his shoulder, he seemed impressed that Sam had any will of his own left at all.

Which made Sam angry. He’d been under others’ control too often in the past for this to seem like anything but another violation, despite how good it felt.

“We’re almost there,” Dean assured him, and the next moment something glowed ahead of them, through the trees. Several small creatures came running toward them, surrounding Sam and gazing up at him with shining eyes. They were naked except for binding cloth over their private parts, and their wings appeared and disappeared on their brown skin, catching the light from whatever glowed through the trees. A couple of them looked familiar, and one of them looked decidedly like Kevin Tran. They flitted around Sam like butterflies, barely seeming to touch the ground, brushing him lightly as they crowded in, then back out again.

Sam shook his head to clear it. His senses were doing strange things, showing him things that weren’t there a moment later, making him think hours had passed when he was sure it’d only been minutes.

He pulled the stopwatch out of his pocket and glanced at the time, relieved that only a few minutes had passed on the clock. He was losing track of time the further into Faerie he traveled, and he was sure he would have lost some memory by now if it hadn’t been for Rowena’s potion. He could still taste it in the back of his throat, and he swallowed gratefully. 

Holding onto reality wasn’t going to be easy, but Sam was determined.

“Here we are,” Dean announced as they stepped into a clearing. It was almost identical to the faerie circle they’d just left, and Sam experienced a moment of disorientation as he stared around, trying to get his bearings. A tent stood in the center of the clearing, lit from within, and as Dean strode confidently towards it, the flittering faeries surrounding them fluttered away.

“It’s just us, Sam,” Dean said as he held the tent flap open with one muscled arm, gesturing to the lighted interior with the other. “I want to get to know our new guest before we start the long trek back to Avalon.”

Inside, the tent was spacious, in that way that only magical spaces can be bigger on the inside than they appear from the outside. Plush couches, soft rugs and pillows covered the floor, with low tables placed conveniently among them. Bowls of fruit and softly-glowing lights covered the tables. The walls were decorated with elaborate tapestries displaying scenes similar to the ones Sam had seen in the paintings in Marion’s basement. Nymphs and satyrs cavorted with centaurs and griffins in woodland settings and across rich, fertile fields, and when Sam looked closely, he recognized a familiar horse-like creature.

“Is that a unicorn?” he asked before he could help himself.

Dean smiled indulgently. “Right you are, Sammy boy. They’re rare, even here, but they exist.”

“Huh.”

Dean reached for a pitcher that appeared to be made of gold, gesturing expansively. “Home sweet home,” he said as he picked up a goblet, poured dark red liquid into it. “On the road, anyway.”

“Not bad,” Sam nodded. He shook his head when Dean offered him the goblet, and Dean frowned a little, but didn’t force it.

“As Captain of the King’s Guard, they give me the best tent,” he said. “But it’s still a tent.”

“You have a home, out there,” Sam said. “It’s a bunker, built to hold magical artifacts, so the living quarters are a little sparse, but it’s ours. It’s home.”

Dean took a sip of his wine, peered at Sam over the edge of the goblet.

“You must be tired after your travels,” he said. He gestured toward a sheer curtain, and Sam could see a bed behind it, comfortable and inviting. “You should rest.”

Sam was suddenly exhausted. It hit him that he’d slept only a couple of hours over the past forty-eight or so, and he was probably running on fumes. A nap sounded incredibly good right now, and the bed looked more inviting than it should.

Sam shook his head to clear it. “I don’t have time,” he said. “We need to get back to the faerie circle and get out of here, Dean. If you were yourself, you’d understand. You were kidnapped, man. You’ve been in here since last night, which is however long in Faerie I don’t even know...”

“I’ve been here as long as I can remember,” Dean said. “At least the last sixty years, I’d say.”

“Sixty years?” Sam was stunned. “How can it be that long? You’re not even forty!”

Dean’s forehead creased in a frown. He seemed confused for a moment, staring up into Sam’s face. Then he shook his head as if to clear it.

“Let’s eat something,” he suggested, gesturing toward the low tables.

As if he’d been waiting for the command, one of the little brown faeries flitted in, carrying a tray of fragrant meats, cheeses, vegetables and bread. It was the Kevin look-alike, Sam noted, frowning as he wondered why.

“Do I know you?” Sam asked, and the Kevin-fairy smiled enigmatically.

“I look familiar, don’t I?” he said, and Sam nodded. “Everyone here looks like somebody you knew out in the real world. It’s part of the glamour. It makes it easier for you to stay.”

Sam felt a shiver run up his spine as he glanced at Dean. “But he –– “

“No, Dean’s really Dean,” Kevin-fairy assured him. “Oberon sent him to collect you because he wants you both. He knew you’d come, but he figures you’d stay easier if Dean collected you. Dean wasn’t easy to collect, as you probably know.”

“My dream,” Sam said, and Kevin nodded.

“He’s had them, too.” Kevin glanced at Dean, who was still staring at Sam with a confused frown, watching the exchange but obviously not really listening. “You should kiss him.”

“What?” Sam’s eyes widened in shock.

Kevin shrugged. “It breaks the spell, at least a little,” he said. “So he’ll remember you better. Then you might be able to convince him to leave.”

“But you just said –– wait, are you _helping_ me?”

Kevin shrugged again. “It’s my job. I’m his servant. I anticipate his needs and do my best to provide them. And right now, I can see that what he needs is you.”

“But Oberon –– “

“...will be here soon,” Kevin finished. “So you’d better hurry.”

Apparently, Dean didn’t need a moment to adjust to the idea. Sam had barely recovered from his surprise when Dean was in his personal space, crowding in with an intent that Sam understood just a moment too late. Muscled arms wrapped around his shoulders, strong fingers slipped into his hair, pulling his head down as Dean rose up on tiptoe, pressing their lips together.

The kiss was fleeting, mostly chaste, although Sam’s mouth was open and a stab of lust sliced down through his chest and belly to his dick, making his legs tremble. When Dean pulled away it was both too soon and not soon enough. Sam lifted his fingers to his tingling lips, staring at Dean in shock.

Dean blinked and shook his head, as if he were waking up from a dream. He glanced around the room, confusion furrowing his brow, as if everything was suddenly unfamiliar and strange.

Then he looked up at Sam and his face cleared, relief replacing his former confusion.

“Sam? Sammy?”

“Yeah, Dean. It’s me.”

“How are you here? Did they – did they get you, too?”

“I came to rescue you,” Sam said, frowning. “Don’t you remember? I came to take you home.” It felt strange to repeat himself, but Dean behaved like he was a new man, as if the last few minutes hadn’t happened, as if he hadn’t just been trying to seduce Sam into staying here with him.

Sam experienced a moment of doubt, for the first time wondering if he was doing the right thing, taking Dean away from this place. Maybe he’d be happier here. Maybe he _was_ happier here, and Sam’s rescue wasn’t really a rescue after all. Maybe it was more of a kidnapping.

“So what are we waiting for? Let’s ditch this popsicle stand!” Dean sounded like himself all right, but he still seemed confused. He still glittered. He still had _wings,_ for God’s sake.

He still wanted to touch Sam, couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off him, and something about that didn’t sit right with Sam. It felt too much like a spell, like Dean was on something or under the influence of something.

Sam, of all people, knew how it felt to be made to do something against his will. He didn’t want that for Dean. He couldn’t.

“What’s wrong with him?” he asked Kevin. “Why’s he suddenly being so agreeable? A minute ago, he was trying to get me to eat something and stay here with him.”

Kevin shrugged. “Does it matter?” He asked. “He kissed you, now he’ll do anything you ask. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

Sam flinched. “Not exactly.”

“Better make up your mind,” Kevin said. “Your time’s running out.”

Sam drew the stopwatch out of his pocket and confirmed that Kevin was right. They had fifteen minutes to get the hell out of Faerie or be trapped here forever. Sam knew he shouldn’t be looking a gift-horse in the mouth here; if Dean suddenly wanted to leave with him, he should be grateful. He should be getting them gone five minutes ago.

“So what’s the plan, Sam?” Dean asked. “Are we getting out?”

“Yeah,” Sam nodded. “But I need to know that’s really what you want.”

“What? Of course it is! How could you even ask that?” Even Dean’s gruff tone was off, as if he was reacting out of some deep instinct, some insensate muscle memory, rather than using his brain.

“It’s just, you seem so happy here,” Sam said. “You’re Captain of the Guard, you’re the big man on campus. The king trusts you. You get to boss people around. You lead an army, man, and you fight battles and win. You’re a winner here. A top dog. A hero.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Dean shook his head. “None of it. It’s not what I want. You _know_ that.”

“Do I?”

“They drugged me to make me forget you, man,” Dean said fiercely. “All these years, I could feel something missing, a constant ache in my gut, but I didn’t know what it was. Then when I saw you tonight, I knew. I remembered. I felt whole again. With you, I’m who I’m supposed to be.”

Sam ignored the little voice in his head that warned him that his Dean would never be so forthcoming about something so intimate. Something was really wrong.

“And you remember what our life is like, out there in the real world?”

Dean frowned thoughtfully for a moment, then shook his head. “Not all of it. Not much, actually. But I remember _you._ You’re my life. Whatever we do out there, whatever our life is like, it’s where I’m supposed to be because you’re there.”

“Our lives are kind of shitty,” Sam warned. “We’re not heroes. Most people don’t know who we are. We throw ourselves in front of danger all the time without pay. We live hand-to-mouth, day-by-day, stealing credit cards and hustling pool like petty criminals. We’re basically outlaws. There’s no glory in it. When we manage to save a few lives, most of the time nobody even says thank you.”

“We fight side-by-side,” Dean said confidently. “You and me. We’re warriors.”

“Something like that,” Sam agreed. “We hunt evil and put it down.”

“We’re the good guys.”

“We try to be.” Sam nodded. “Things don’t always work out that way, but for the most part, we do the best we can to make the world a better place.”

“Sounds good,” Dean said. “Sounds right. Can I kiss you again?”

Dean leaned forward, his luminous green eyes fixed on Sam’s for a long moment before they dropped to his mouth. Sam was mesmerized again. His lips parted of their own free will and a shiver of lust and longing shot down his spine. Dean’s hands were warm and soft against his heated skin. Dean curled his fingers into Sam’s hair, coaxing him to lean down so Dean could reach his mouth, the other hand pressed against his chest, over his heart.

At the last possible moment, Sam stepped back, taking Dean’s hand in his to pull it off his chest. Sam heard a soft moan of disappointment and realized it was his.

“We don’t – we don’t do this, in our world,” he said, breathless, chest heaving. He cleared his throat. “We’re – we’re brothers.”

“So?” Dean seemed completely unsurprised, which reminded Sam more than anything that had happened so far that Dean still wasn’t himself. “Their majesties surround themselves with siblings all the time. It’s normal here. They know they can count on their loyalty because of their kinship, not just because they’re lovers.”

Sam had known this, but it still shocked him more than he wanted to admit. “Yeah, well, you’ll just have to trust me on this one. We’re brothers in our world. _Just_ brothers.”

Dean’s lips curled up in a smirk. “Oh, I doubt that, Sam. I may not have all my memories from that world, but I know how I feel. And I definitely feel like we were more than _just_ brothers.”

Sam blushed, lowered his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, we were. Just – not that.” How could he explain a lifetime of shared experience and trauma? How could mere words ever make up for all those lost memories? “Let’s just get you home, okay? Then we’ll - we’ll figure it out.”

“Okay.”

In hindsight, Sam realized he should have worried more about Dean’s apparent docility. Ever since they met in the clearing, Dean had seemed mesmerized. After the kiss he seemed drugged. He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off Sam, and he was far too willing to agree to everything Sam suggested. Given the fact that he had zero memories of their life together outside Faerie, Dean seemed entirely too ready to leave everything he knew behind to follow Sam into a strange new land.

But at the time, Sam trusted Dean’s instincts, just as he always had. If Dean was ready to drop everything, to give up the only life he could remember ever having, then Sam was grateful, even if it did make him uneasy. He wasn’t at all sure he would have been so ready to go with Dean if Dean had come to rescue him in the Cage. Sam would’ve been convinced that Dean was a figment of his imagination, another of Lucifer’s endless tortures, designed specifically for Sam.

But Sam wasn’t thinking about that now.

“Lead us back to the faerie circle,” Sam said to Kevin as Dean slid his hand up Sam’s chest again, tucked himself under Sam’s arm as if he belonged there. He felt warm and solid, filling in the space beside Sam like an extra limb that Sam hadn’t even realized he was missing.

As Kevin led the way, Sam kept his arm around Dean, kept him upright as he stumbled. Dean seemed more disoriented outside the tent, staring around with wild eyes as if the landscape was new and terrifying again, as it must have felt when he first arrived. As they hurried through the trees, Dean became more agitated and disoriented. He clung to Sam, moving with him in sync, face pressed into Sam’s shoulder. He curled his body into Sam’s side as if he was an extension of Sam’s body, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

“It’s okay,” Sam muttered, reassuring his brother without even thinking about it. “We’re gonna get you out of here. It’s okay, I got you.”

Other times when Sam had failed at this kept bubbling forth in his mind, forcing him on. Sam’s failure to rescue Dean from Hell, and later from Purgatory, still weighed on him, fueling his determination to get it right this time.

 _Rescuing someone’s body is the easy part,_ the little voice in his head kept reminding him. _If Dean leaves his mind or soul behind, vital pieces of himself, what are you going to do about that, Sam? Huh?_

 _Not thinking about that right now,_ the other voice in his head, the one that sounded like Dean, insisted. _We’ll deal with it later._

The trees parted and a moonlit clearing appeared.

“We’re here,” Kevin said needlessly.

Dean sagged in Sam’s arms, his head lolling back against Sam’s shoulder. His eyes were closed and he seemed almost passed out.

“What’s wrong with him?” Sam asked.

“It’s the effects of the kiss,” Kevin said. “Sometimes, magic kisses wake you up, sometimes they put you to sleep. You want to take him out of here, you may have to carry him.”

Sam frowned in irritation as he let Dean’s body slide onto the ground, turning his attention to the faerie circle. He thought he could barely make out the glowing edge of the entrance on the other side of the clearing, the way he’d come into Faerie. Focusing all his psychic energy on that point, Sam spoke the command that Rowena had taught him:

_“Aperi portam!”_

Instantly, the glowing light intensified, and this time Sam could make out the shape of a door, forced open by the magic that was part of everything in this world.

“Okay, Dean, let’s go.”

Sam gathered his brother in a fireman’s carry over his shoulder, relieved that at least Dean wasn’t awake enough to protest. Nevertheless, Dean’s dead weight caused Sam to stumble more than once as he made his way toward the door, muttering a steady stream of encouragement and curses to keep his strength up. They’d almost made it and Sam was just beginning to allow himself to breathe a sigh of relief when Kevin gave a cry of alarm.

“Sam! Look out!”

“Stop!” A deep voice boomed across the clearing, unnaturally loud, accompanied by a crash of thunder in the cloudless sky. Sam stumbled as a sudden powerful wind rose around him, buffeting against his back and blowing his hair into his face. He took another step forward, but now his legs felt like they were sinking in quicksand, his movements hindered by an invisible force that pushed back against him.

“Oberon! No!”

Kevin’s panicked cry made Sam turn on instinct. He’d let Kevin down too many times in the past to ignore him now, even if this faerie-version of Kevin wasn’t the real thing. With Dean over his shoulder, Sam had minimal agility, yet he hadn’t expected Oberon to be so close. In the roaring wind Sam hadn’t heard the fae king drawing near on some magical power that probably involved wings, so that he seemed to swoop down out of the sky from above. Sam flung his arm up in a defensive gesture without even realizing he’d let the iron stake slide into hand from his jacket sleeve, probably when he first heard Oberon’s voice.

Sam would always believe that some kind of upside-down dumb luck was operating the day he stumbled into Faerie to save his brother. There wasn’t any other explanation for how easily the rescue went down. From the kiss that bespelled Dean into complying with Sam’s wishes, to the presence of the little faerie who suggested it, to this moment in the faerie circle, when Oberon literally threw himself on Sam’s weapon, thus freeing all the people who had been abducted into Faerie over the past seven years, Sam had never known a mission to go so well.

Of course, there had to be a hitch, and Sam knew full well that getting Dean safely out of Faerie didn’t mean the job was done. But at the moment that his iron stake buried itself deep in Oberon’s chest, Sam could feel only profound surprise, along with a healthy dose of horror when he looked into the Fae King’s wide hazel eyes.

Oberon was the spitting image of John Winchester.

The King’s mouth opened in an expression of shock; he looked down at the fountain of blood bubbling up around the wound in his chest, suspended for another moment in mid-air, before his eyes dimmed and his body went slack in death.

Sam staggered back, letting go of the stake, and he would have fallen if the ground hadn’t tilted upward at an angle, shaking under his feet. Lightning flashed, and the wind seemed to be dying down, but Sam didn’t wait to see if the storm was over along with Oberon’s life. He turned to find the door still glowing, almost directly behind him. In the moment before he stepped through, Sam caught a glimpse of fae-Kevin, darting between the trees on the other side of the circle, and felt such intense relief it made him gasp.

At least this version of Kevin had managed to survive.

As soon as they were through the door, Sam let Dean’s body slide off his shoulders into the soft grass of the embankment, then collapsed on the ground next to him. The night was exceptionally cool, but still. A car passed by on the road above them, the only immediate indication that they were truly back in the real world. Sam pulled the stopwatch from his pocket, noting that it had stopped; the hour was up.

Sam rolled over to get a good look at Dean. His brother was naked from the waist up, but otherwise looked no different than he had the previous night, when he’d walked into the faerie circle in the first place. Dean’s long hair was short again, his skin covered in its normal dusting of freckles, minus the glitter. As Sam checked Dean’s pulse, he couldn’t resist rolling him onto his side so he could get a good look at his bare back.

No wings.

“Okay, let’s get you up to the car,” Sam muttered. Dean was fine, he told himself. He’s just sleeping off the effects of whatever happened in there. That’s all this is.

He didn’t like to leave Dean for even a moment, so he carried him up the bank to the car, propped him against it while he opened the passenger door, and shoved Dean into the seat, grabbing a blanket from the back seat to wrap around him. It was awkward; Sam accidentally let Dean’s head hit the metal frame of the door and went into a paroxysm of muttered apologies and gentle touches to make sure he hadn’t drawn blood.

He hadn’t. Dean was fine. Dean just needed to sleep. He’d wake up from this and be himself again in no time.

As Sam slipped behind the wheel of the Impala, he took a deep breath. The sun was already rising. Time had moved differently inside Faerie, just as Rowena had promised. Just as Sam had already known it would from their last experience. It wasn’t just an hour later; all night had passed while Sam had been inside Faerie.

As he started the car, he considered the fact that he hadn’t slept in almost three days, Earth-time. Then he glanced at Dean, huddled against the door of the Impala with the blanket wrapped around him, dead to the world, and all Sam could think about was getting home, putting as much distance between themselves and this place as possible. Now that Dean was here, he just wanted to leave.

Sam wanted to leave this place and never, ever come back.

They’d been driving west for almost three hours and Dean was still asleep when Sam’s phone rang.

“They’re all back,” Sheriff Scott said bluntly when Sam opened the line. “Every single one. Even the ones from seven years ago. I don’t know what you did, Agent Richards, but you’ve got some pretty happy loved ones lining up to thank you down here.”

Sam glanced over at his sleeping brother and rubbed his eyes.

“That’s good,” he said. “Real good. Thanks for letting me know. We’ll be in touch.”

And just like that, it was over.


	3. Chapter 3

**//**//**

At midday, Sam stopped for gas. He put a hand on Dean’s shoulder and shook him lightly.

“Hey buddy, you hungry?”

Dean’s eyelids fluttered but didn’t open. He took a deep breath, shifted slightly on the seat, then sank back down into slumber. He seemed content, though, so Sam didn’t push it.

At least he wasn’t dead. Sam’s mind flashed back to the time they’d made this drive, along almost the same roads, after Metatron killed Dean. It took all night, just like this journey would take all day, but there was a definite difference that Sam couldn’t help feeling grateful for. Dean might be asleep, but he was definitely alive.

It was after sunset when Sam pulled the car into the bunker’s garage.

“Hey, we’re home,” Sam announced, but Dean slept on. Sam took a deep breath, ignoring the niggling fear at the back of his brain, the little voice that kept asking, “What if he never wakes up? Shouldn’t he go to a hospital?”

“Okay, let’s get you into bed,” Sam continued, talking out loud just to keep his spirits up, just to convince himself that everything would be fine in the morning. Dean’s color was good, he didn’t seem ill. Sure, he hadn’t peed or eaten or had anything to drink since last night in Faerie, but a man could live for three days without water, and right now Sam was fairly convinced that Dean’s unconsciousness wasn’t natural. He’d been drugged by something magical, like Rip Van Winkle in Washington Irving’s story. When the spell wore off, he’d be fine. Sam just needed to do a little research, keep Dean comfortable in the meantime, that’s all.

In the bunker, Sam manhandled Dean carefully down the hall to his room and laid him down gently on his bed. He pulled Dean’s boots and belt off but otherwise left him as he was, since he didn’t have any visible wounds that needed cleaning or dressing. Sam pulled the blanket up to Dean’s chin, left a glass of water for him on his bedside table, and went to bed.

In the bathroom, Sam splashed cold water on his face and brushed his teeth, gulped down a bottle of water, then took off his boots, belt, and over-shirt before collapsing onto his own bed. He left both the door to his room and Dean’s room ajar, just in case. He’d be up in a few hours anyway, he told himself, right after he got a little much-needed rest.

As he drifted off to sleep, his mind replayed the look on Oberon’s face as he realized he’d been killed.

Sam knew that face would haunt his dreams for many nights to come.

**//**//**

Sam woke suddenly, hours later, and sat up with a gasp, certain he’d been somewhere else only a moment before. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw a silent figure in the doorway.

Dean.

“Heya, Sammy.”

The voice was familiar, comforting, and through the fog of Sam’s sleep-deprived brain, the sound of it flooded him with relief.

“Dean. Hey.” Sam rubbed his face, shook his head to clear it. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Dean nodded. “Everything’s just fine.”

Sam squinted against the light from the hallway behind Dean’s silhouette, trying to read his brother’s expression.

“Okay, good. So, you need anything?” Sam wasn’t sure if he should trust Dean’s words, but he’d learned long ago that it didn’t help to challenge him when he was feeling vulnerable.

“No, I’m good,” Dean assured him. “I’m just going down to the kitchen to get something to eat. You want anything?”

“No, I’m not really hungry,” Sam admitted. Dean nodded and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He started to turn away, which was when Sam noticed he was wearing his old henley, the one that was so soft as to be almost threadbare. Dean’s sad-little-boy shirt, as Sam secretly called it.

“Hey,” Sam called softly, and Dean stopped, turned back to look at him. Sam wished he could see his brother’s face. “It’s good to have you back.”

Dean cleared his throat and nodded. “It’s good to _be_ back,” he said, his voice cracking on the last word. As he hunched his shoulders and turned away to shuffle off toward the kitchen, Sam realized he wasn’t wearing any shoes.

Sam lay staring at the ceiling, willing sleep to return, but his brain was too busy. He knew he should be grateful that Dean was awake, that he seemed normal again, that he seemed to know where he was and what had happened to him. Sam knew he should be thanking his lucky stars that this time they’d dodged the bullet that usually found them and pierced right through their best-laid plans. This time, their luck was holding, and Sam knew he shouldn’t rock the boat. If this one time the mission was a success, the last thing Sam wanted was to punch holes in it. He should accept the win and move on.

But no matter how he tried to convince himself otherwise, he couldn’t help thinking about the Dean he had met in Faerie. That man had been full of confidence in his life as fae, in his leadership role, in his lack of any distinct memories of Sam and the life he had led before. Sure, Sam’s presence had rocked him; he’d clearly experienced some self-doubt and confusion when he first saw Sam, not to mention the obvious attraction. But fae!Dean had been real. He’d lived a long, long life in that other place and had been admired and looked-up to. Served.

Where had that man gone? Had the magic kiss destroyed him and all his memories? Or had it only submerged him, replacing him with the Dean that Sam knew? Could fae!Dean still be buried inside, under the layers of real!Dean that had somehow miraculously resurfaced?

Whatever had happened, Sam sensed that Dean wasn’t okay, no matter what he said. Just like when his brother returned from Hell, Dean’s protests that everything was fine sounded hollow to Sam. Something definitely wasn’t all right, and Sam should try to help him.

His heart aching with concern for his brother, Sam finally gave up on sleep. Instead, he pulled his boots on but left his sweaty flannel on the chair. He was pretty sure it had Oberon’s blood on it.

He needed a shower. And food. Maybe not quite in that order.

**//**//**

Dean was frying bacon when Sam entered the kitchen. He glanced up, then looked away quickly, although not before Sam caught the sudden flush in his cheeks that spread all the way to the tips of his ears.

Damn. He remembered.

“That smells –– really good, actually,” Sam admitted as he poured himself a cup of fresh-brewed coffee and slipped into a seat at the table.

“Scrambled eggs coming right up next,” Dean said. “You must be starving.”

Sudden hunger stabbed at Sam’s stomach, and he couldn’t help wondering if Dean still had some power to glamour him, even outside of Faerie.

Then he pushed that thought out of his head. Dean had always had the power to help Sam figure out what he wanted, how he felt, what was most important. He’d always provided everything Sam needed, even if there had been times when Sam had to assert his independence.

“Yeah, that sounds awesome,” Sam said, determined not to provoke Dean, to let him tell Sam what he was thinking on his own.

“So — you don’t want me to make you an egg-white omelet?”

Sam felt a shiver go up his spine as he faced the fact that Dean was actually asking about Sam’s breakfast preferences, as if it’d been years since he’d made breakfast for his brother.

Or as if he couldn’t remember very well exactly what those preferences were.

Sam mustered his courage, took a deep breath, and shook his head.

“No, that’s fine,” he said. “Scrambled eggs are just fine.”

“And bacon?” Dean turned around to face Sam, pan in one hand, spatula in the other. “You like bacon, right?”

Sam fought the tears smarting at the back of his eyes as he nodded slowly, determination replacing the terror tugging at the back of his brain.

“Yeah,” he said, and his voice sounded broken, choked. “Yeah, Dean, that’s fine. Bacon is just –– it’s fine.”

Dean nodded, frowning at the bacon as he scooped it onto a plate and set it on the table in front of Sam. He paused, as if waiting for Sam’s approval, then blushed again when Sam gave him a tentative smile.

“Dimples,” he muttered, almost to himself, as he turned back to the stove. “Did you always have those?”

Sam’s heart sank a little more. He took a deep breath, spoke to Dean’s broad back as his brother cracked eggs into the heated pan.

“You know, it’s okay if your memories are a little hazy and confused for a while. You were in there a long time. It – it took me a while to get you out.”

Dean’s shoulders shrugged. “You did what you had to,” he said gruffly. “The main thing is, you got me out.”

“I should’ve come sooner,” Sam mumbled, guilt and shame prickling at the edges of his vision. “I sat there most of the first night, stupidly hoping you’d come back, when I could’ve been researching a way to get you out, or calling Rowena, or Cas...”

“You were in shock,” Dean said. “It happens to everybody.”

“Yeah, but we’re not everybody,” Sam argued, wiping at his stinging eyes irritably. He was beyond tired, still exhausted, traumatized. He really needed a shower. “I should’ve known better. I should’ve _done_ better.”

Dean turned with the pan and spatula in his hands, dumped the cooked eggs into a bowl on the table.

“Stop kicking yourself,” he ordered, keeping his eyes off Sam’s face. Sam understood. Dean was embarrassed for him. He was trying to help Sam keep it together. “You did what you could. Hell, you did better than I would have done if our situations had been reversed.”

“I lost you,” Sam said miserably. “You didn’t even know who I was.”

“Then I remembered, didn’t I?” Dean lifted his eyes to Sam’s face, full of raw emotion. “Face it, Sammy. You did it. You got me back. Now eat.”

And Sam did because his big brother told him to, because Dean was here and taking care of Sam, just like always.

The rest could wait. Dean was broken, his memories playing tricks on him, making life in the real world feel more like a dream than real life. Sam could see that. Sam would deal with that. They both would, in time.

For now, they needed to go through the motions, do what needed to be done right here. Right now.

After breakfast, Dean made Sam take a shower and go back to bed, and Sam was grateful.

**//**//**

Castiel dropped by the next day.

“Dean has serious gaps in his memory,” the angel said needlessly after Sam explained what had happened. Cas spent a few minutes examining Dean in his room before joining Sam in the library. 

“Can you fix him?” Sam asked.

Castiel shook his head. “His mind contains many complex layers of experiences, the most recent of which are the years spent in that other world. He must reach far back into his memories to recall even the simplest day-to-day activities from his life before, in this world. Yet even when he does that, there seem to be many memories that are simply missing.”

Sam had already figured that out.

**//**//**

As the days and weeks went by, Dean seemed to get better. He was at his best when they hunted, when the visceral reality of taking down a ghost or a monster commanded all of his attention. Then he seemed mostly like himself, most present and aware.

Back home in the bunker, on their days off, he had good days and not-so-good days. There were times when he walked into a room and stopped, his face blank as he forgot what he was doing. When Sam looked up and caught his eye, Dean blushed and looked away, then made an excuse.

“I was looking for the bathroom,” he’d say. Or, “I thought this was the kitchen.”

The bunker could be confusing, its corridors endless and winding and identical. Sam tried not to worry that Dean would get lost, but there were days when he seemed to disappear, and no matter how he searched, Sam could never figure out where he went.

He always showed up, though. “I was target-practicing,” he’d say when Sam asked, or “I was in the garage with the car,” since Sam almost never went there. Sam didn’t push because Dean always looked a little spooked at those moments, and Sam suspected he’d been dealing with his memories of his other life, the one they didn’t talk about. Those memories were Dean’s to reveal, if he ever wanted to, and Sam knew better than to ask.

He couldn’t help wondering, though. Dean had been favored there. He’d been special. The king himself had given Dean an important position.

Sam suspected there’d been even more to Dean’s relationship with Oberon, but he couldn’t bear to think about that. It made Sam feel inadequate, second-rate. It made Sam fear that Dean would eventually tire of him, would seek out a partner who was more inspiring, someone who could give Dean the power and position he deserved.

Sam could never do that. Sam would always hold Dean back. Sam’s issues and history weighed on Dean, made him feel bad for not being able to fix things for Sam. In Faerie, Dean had had a chance to start over, to get away from the misery and degradation of his past. He could forget about the little brother with demon blood who always brought him down.

Sam could never hope to measure up.

**//**//**

Rowena called about a week after they returned to the bunker.

“So my spell worked,” she noted.

“So you took care of the town sorceress,” Sam said in reply.

“Of course. What did you expect? I couldn’t leave her to do any more damage, could I?”

“And I bet you found the grimoire,” Sam suggested, but Rowena didn’t take the bait.

“So how’s our little fairy soldier?” she asked instead. “Does he remember who you are yet?”

“He remembers enough,” Sam said curtly.

“Oh, does he, now? I heard you were hunting ghosts down in Bilouxi a couple of days ago. It seems somebody forgot to bring the salt.”

“We managed,” Sam said. He bristled at the reminder that Rowena was keeping such close tabs on them.

“Oh Samuel, you know I always collect my debts,” Rowena said, sultry and teasing, as if she was reading his mind. “Seems to me you owe me a little extra this time.”

“You have the grimoire,” Sam snapped. “Plus whatever other magical artifacts you no doubt picked up from Marion’s shop.”

“And you still have the portrait,” she countered. “Don’t forget, that’s a magic window into Faerie, Sam. You’ll always have a way to see what’s happening there. And so will he.”

Sam considered the fact that the portrait was now stored carefully under some boxes in the dungeon. It occurred to him that Dean might have already found it.

**//**//**

“You know you can talk about it, if you need to,” Sam offered one evening as they were sitting across from each other at the library table. “Whatever happened in there, you don’t have to keep carrying the burden of it alone.”

Dean looked up, met Sam’s eyes with that mesmerizing green gaze that never seemed anything less than magical to Sam, even when he was a little boy.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he bluffed.

“I think you do.” Sam’s voice softened. He’d pulled out the portrait earlier, noted it was in a slightly different place from where he’d put it originally. Dean had definitely found it. “I can’t imagine anything worse than what you went through.”

“Yes, you can.” Dean frowned, and Sam shook his head.

“No,” he insisted. “Not even all those years in the Cage with Lucifer compare to what you went through. I never forgot you, man. I never once stopped believing you’d come for me.”

It was a lie, but a small one. Even when Sam finally gave into despair, finally gave up hoping he’d be saved, Sam never forgot Dean. Never stopped loving him and replaying memories of their life together. Thoughts of Dean kept him sane.

Dean lifted haunted eyes, and Sam winced. He hadn’t meant to make Dean feel guilty about not rescuing him from the Cage. That had never been his intention.

“I can’t, man,” Dean said. “I just — I can’t talk about it. Not yet.”

Sam’s heart sank. “Okay,” he nodded. “I get that. I just want you to know you can, if you want to. I’ll listen.”

**//**//**

It was another week before the topic came up again.

They’d just finished a hunt, were feeling successful because they’d managed to save some children from a rawhead and nobody got electrocuted except the monster.

They stopped by the side of the road in rural Montana and pulled out the green cooler, leaning on the car shoulder-to-shoulder as they watched the sunset. Things were going well, Sam reflected. Dean’s memory gaps were less and less noticeable. This could work.

“They’re all about memory loss and replacement in there,” Dean said, and Sam knew immediately that he was talking about Faerie. “They start in on you as soon as you get there, making you eat and drink their poison, pretending it’s all one big happy family.”

Sam winced, recalling Oberon’s resemblance to their father.

“I knew all of that, so I fought it, just like last time. You have to believe me, Sam. I fought and fought. For years!”

Sam nodded, heart sinking. “Yeah. I know you did.”

“But they remembered me.” Dean’s chin dropped to his chest and he stared at his feet, shifting uncomfortably. “They were ready for me. Oberon –– he took over my training personally.”

Sam swallowed thickly, unable to stop the shiver that ran up his spine.

“He tried to make me forget you,” Dean went on. “He told me he would replace you in every way, even the ways that you and me had never...” Dean cleared his throat, shifted awkwardly before continuing. “In every way.”

Sam nodded, encouraging but dreading Dean’s words at the same time.

“He wanted to make me captain of the guard from the start, said he needed to take me personally under his wing, make me serve him until I forgot how to do anything else. He said –– he said he could tell I was a good little soldier.”

Dean took a deep, shaky breath before he continued, and Sam waited, hardly daring to breathe at all.

“Every day, he stripped a little more of my old life away, my old memories. Every day, I forgot a little more and a little more until there was nothing there. I knew I should remember who I was, what my life had been like before, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t.”

Sam shook his head sympathetically. He couldn’t imagine anything worse. He wanted to kill Oberon all over again, slowly this time.

“Then he started filling my mind with false memories,” Dean went on. “Being a child, growing up, mother and father, sisters. No brother, though. He didn’t give me a brother. My mind was starving for something he wouldn’t let me have, but I didn’t know what it was.” Dean shifted, rubbing his shoulder against Sam’s. “He sent me to collect you because he was so sure I wouldn’t know you. He was so sure of himself.”

“It was a test,” Sam offered, and Dean nodded.

“Yeah.” Dean took a sip of his beer. “But I failed, didn’t I? I remembered you.”

Sam tried to smile, took a deep breath, nodded. “Yeah. You did.”

“I even knew your name,” Dean said. “I couldn’t remember my own name, but I knew yours.”

Sam nodded, recalling another time that had happened, another time Rowena had helped him when Dean had lost his memories.

“Then after I – “ Dean shifted awkwardly, and Sam filled in the blank, lips tingling at the memory of Dean’s kiss. “After that, I started remembering you. This life. Bits and pieces. Before I passed out.”

Sam nodded. He’d already guessed as much.

“I’m sorry about that, by the way,” Dean continued, gesturing at his mouth awkwardly. “I never should’ve done that.”

“No need to apologize,” Sam assured him. “You weren’t yourself.”

He could feel Dean shooting him a sideways glance, but when Sam looked up to meet it Dean looked away, raising his bottle take a swig. Sam tried not to watch as Dean’s lips curled around the neck of the bottle, as his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

“He’s dead, you know,” Sam said softly. “I killed him.” _However accidentally, however miraculously,_ he didn’t add.

Dean winced as he lowered the beer bottle. His cheeks flushed and his eyelids fluttered, and Sam waited with baited breath, chewing on his lower lip, as Dean took in the news. He wasn’t sure how Dean would react, couldn’t help wondering if Dean would resent him for killing Oberon. But when Dean finally looked up, Sam could read the relief in his eyes that told Sam he’d done the right thing.

“Okay.” Dean said, voice cracking only a little. “That’s it, then.” _It’s over,_ he didn’t add, but Sam heard it anyway.

Dean’s eyes dropped to Sam’s mouth for a brief moment, and Sam tried not to read too much into it. Even if Dean had wanted that kiss when he wasn’t himself, there was no reason for Sam to expect he’d ever want it again.

And Sam was fine with that. Really, he was. Having Dean back, even as broken and lost as he was, that was enough. 

Sam couldn’t help hoping, though. He’d never stop hoping.

**//**//**

Over the next few days, Dean was unusually quiet. Sam kept catching him watching Sam, but whenever he did, Dean looked away quickly and pretended to be busy doing something else. He cracked stupid jokes obviously designed to irritate Sam. Sam figured he was processing the news of Oberon’s death, but one night he learned that Dean had something else on his mind. There was still something he needed to talk about.

This time, Dean followed Sam into his room, leaving the door ajar behind him. Sam was sitting up in bed, reading, but he put the book down immediately. Since that first night, Dean had never come to his room. Not once.

"Hey." Dean stood awkwardly in his bare feet, t-shirt and sleep shorts, obviously ready for bed. He seemed very young. Sam waited patiently, fighting the urge to go to his brother, to gather him up and never let him go.

Finally, Dean took a deep, shaky breath. “I just wanted you to know, even though I wasn’t myself when it happened, I don’t regret it.”

Sam’s eyes dropped to Dean’s lips as his heart sped up. He understood immediately. “Okay.” His voice was hoarse, broken, as if he hadn’t used it in a while, so he cleared his throat, beyond nervous. “Okay.”

Dean lifted his eyes, dark with intent. “Just so you know.”

Sam nodded, speechless, lips parted in anticipation.

“Okay then.” Dean turned to leave. “So we’re good? Good. ‘Night, Sammy.”

Sam sat staring at the empty doorway for several minutes after Dean left, after Dean went back to his own room and closed the door firmly behind him.

 _Well, **that** was –– unexpected,_ the voice in Sam’s head said.

Sam’s mind wouldn’t let him sleep for some time that night, churning with possibility.

With hope.

**//**//**

During the following week, Dean was touchier than usual. He squeezed Sam’s shoulder when he leaned over him to read Sam’s laptop screen. He put his hand on the small of Sam’s back for a moment when they interviewed witnesses. He rested his arm along the back of the seat in the car and let his fingers play with the collar of Sam’s jacket, sometimes carding through Sam’s hair almost absently, as if he wasn’t even aware of doing it.

At the breakfast table one morning, Sam had to resist the urge to pull away when Dean left his hand on Sam’s arm, the warmth of it soaking through Sam’s shirt-sleeve, making his heart pound.

They caught a case that day, a pack of werewolves living in an old warehouse on the outskirts of Chicago. When they checked into their motel, Sam’s eyebrows went up of their own accord when Dean accepted a room with a kingsized bed.

“What? There’s plenty of room.” Dean shrugged as they unpacked. “Besides. We’ll only be here one night. How bad can it be?”

The hunt went bad. Sam woke up on the floor of the warehouse, gasping for breath, his throat on fire from being nearly choked to death by one of the werewolves. Dean was lying practically on top of him, fingers pressed against Sam’s bruised neck, checking for a pulse.

“Damn it, Sammy!” Dean’s hands moved expertly over Sam’s aching body, checking for injuries. “Thought I’d lost you.”

When Dean kissed him, it was more of a reflex than anything. Sam almost didn’t notice at first because the adrenaline and pain was so intense by comparison. Dean’s hands were moving carefully over his neck, holding his head gently as his lips moved along Sam’s jaw, his aching cheekbone, then back to his lips. One of Sam’s lips was split, and Dean’s kiss was gentle there too, tongue darting out to lick away the blood almost as if he was tending Sam’s injuries. As if this was a regular part of field medicine for them.

“Sam.” Dean’s whisper was desperate, full of gratitude for Sam’s survival. Sam could almost believe that’s all this was, that Dean was just expressing the relief they’d both felt hundreds of times when one of them passed out after an injury. After all the times Sam had watched Dean die, having him wake up again from mere unconsciousness always seemed like nothing less than a miracle.

This was more than that. After peppering his face and neck with soft, soothing kisses, Dean returned to Sam’s mouth, kissing him deeply, pouring into the kiss all the love and longing he’d been holding back for at least the past week, probably longer. Sam surged up, a sound somewhere between a whimper and a moan escaping him as he kissed back. Dean swallowed the sound, grinding down against Sam’s body so that Sam could feel how hard he was, so there could be no mistaking this for a simple reflex. Dean was deliberately making out with him on the dirty floor of an empty warehouse, among the blood and the grime and the dead bodies of the three werewolves they’d just killed.

“Fuck!” Sam gasped when he came up for air.

“That’s the idea,” Dean agreed, chuckling against Sam’s neck as he writhed desperately against him.

Sam opened his legs, giving Dean space to push up between them, rubbing and grinding through their clothes. Dean shoved a hand down between their bodies, fumbling with Sam’s belt and fly, gripping Sam’s dick through his jeans. The knowledge that it was Dean’s hand touching him was more than Sam could take, sending him over the edge as his orgasm crashed over him and he came hard and long and helpless.

“That’s it, little brother,” Dean panted into Sam’s ear as Sam’s body shuddered and bucked. “That’s it.”

Sam almost passed out with bliss as the aftershocks rolled over him. He was vaguely aware of Dean pulling his own dick out and jerking himself frantically until he was coming all over Sam, stiff and silent. Sam opened his eyes to watch Dean’s face as he came, determined to catalog and store the memory to replay again and again, just in case this was it, just in case this was the only time they ever did this.

When they got back to the motel, Dean made Sam shower first, peeling off his blood-and-semen-stained clothes as gently as possible as he searched for more injuries. After his shower, Dean allowed Sam to pull on boxers and a t-shirt before tucking him into bed with a bottle of water and more painkillers. Sam was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow.

Sometime in the night Sam woke up to the comforting warmth of Dean’s body pressed up against his back, spooning him in his sleep. Dean’s arm was tucked under his, hand over Sam’s heart, snoring softly into the back of Sam’s neck. When Sam laced their fingers together, hugging Dean’s arm to his chest, Dean sighed and shifted closer, sliding his leg between Sam’s under the blankets. Sam could just feel the outline of Dean’s dick, pressed into his backside, and when he pushed back against it Dean made a contented, turned-on sound deep in his throat.

As Sam drifted off to sleep again he felt Dean press his lips against the back of Sam’s neck, at the top of his spine, and it made Sam smile.

**//**//**

In the morning, Dean was gone. Sam pulled himself out of bed, stiff and sore, heart pounding as he went over the memories of last night. Had it been real? Did Dean really mean it? Had it just been an adrenaline-fueled reflex? Would Dean take it back in the cold light of day? Try to pretend it didn’t mean anything?

When the door opened and Dean entered the room with a tray of coffee and breakfast sandwiches, Sam almost collapsed with relief. It wasn’t that he’d been afraid Dean would bolt, exactly. But the look on Dean’s face told him he needn’t have worried.

“You know I’m not going to kiss you good morning every day,” Dean said.

“No, right, that’s okay,” Sam assured him quickly.

“I brought breakfast,” Dean offered, and the tentative way he said it went straight to Sam’s heart.

They ate quietly, knees knocking together under the table. Sam winced as he swallowed, throat still sore from last night’s hunt, and Dean shook out a couple of painkillers from the bottle, put them down on the table with a water bottle. He waited as Sam swallowed the pills and the water, then nodded his approval.

They drove back to the bunker in companionable silence, music blasting whenever it got too quiet. Dean left his arm on the seat back, letting his fingers tap the rhythm along with Bad Company and the Allman Brothers. When Zep’s “Babe I’m Gonna Leave You” came on, he ran his fingers along Sam’s collar and into his hair, leaving them there, carding through the strands gently, tentative but reassuring at the same time, making Sam shiver.

Back at the bunker, they went about their separate routines, getting ready for bed, checking the warding on the bunker’s doors as they usually did every night, remembering whose turn it was without having to ask. They took their showers together in the spacious communal bathroom, in separate stalls. They brushed their teeth side-by-side at the bathroom sinks, barely glancing at each other, towels firmly wrapped around their waists like always. It was flirtatious and sexy as hell, as it always was for Sam, but he was so used to it he didn’t even wonder whether it meant more now. He just knew it did.

“Good night,” Sam said when he reached his door. They always parted there for the night, Dean seeing Sam safely to bed before going to his own room.

This time, Dean followed Sam into his room and shut the door behind them.

“This okay?” Dean asked when Sam turned around, eyebrows raised in surprise before he could stop himself.

“Yeah,” Sam said, huffing out a short laugh. “Of course.”

Dean dropped his towel, stood in all his naked glory with a look on his face that was half smirking, half hesitant, still a little confused.

He nodded when Sam gave his permission, reaching out for Sam’s hand, the one that held his towel in place. Sam let him take it, let him thread their fingers together as his towel fell to the floor, leaving Sam as bare as Dean. Dean looked down, reached out with his other hand to touch the bruises on Sam’s belly and ribcage. There was a contusion on Dean’s left shoulder, another one on his hip, but Sam had sustained the most injuries on this hunt. Werewolves always ganged up on the biggest guy.

“Remember that time you fell out of that apple tree in Massachusetts?” Dean stepped closer, fingers playing lightly over Sam’s stomach, his ribcage.

Sam shook his head.

“Yeah, you were about five, I think,” Dean said. “It was just after your arm healed, and I was so afraid you’d broken it again.”

“How do you even remember that?” Sam said, but the reproachful smirk Dean gave him answered his question. Dean remembered every time Sam was hurt. Those memories were always the strongest. “It’s like a hundred years ago for you.”

“Probably more, if you count all those other times we were apart.”

Sam sucked in a breath, held it as Dean stepped closer, so that their chests were almost touching. He ran his hand up Sam’s back, tangled it in Sam’s hair, tipping his head down.

“You know what I don’t remember? I don’t remember why we never did this before. I don’t remember why I ever thought it was a bad idea.”

“You had your reasons,” Sam assured him. He was trembling, shivering everywhere Dean touched him.

“Yeah, well, I can’t think of a single one of ‘em now,” Dean said, pulling Sam’s face down so he could reach his lips.

“Good,” Sam murmured just before Dean kissed him.

Dean was slow and careful, taking his time laying Sam out on his bed, using his mouth and hands in ways Sam had only dreamed about. He played Sam’s body like a musical instrument, pulling sounds from deep inside that he swallowed and claimed, then did it again. He loosened and unwound Sam’s muscles and ligaments until he was as relaxed as a rag doll. Dean opened Sam’s body with his mouth and lubed fingers until Sam was begging and shaking, until he was so ready Dean could slide easily inside, making Sam feel full and complete for the first time in his life.

Dean and Sam fit together as Sam had always known they would. Dean was the missing piece inside Sam, the other half of his soul. Their bodies were natural extensions of that deeper part of themselves that could never be truly separated. Their union transcended the limitations of their physical existence, transcended even the limits of time and space. Together, they were something more. Something new. It was as if the act of coming together created something else entirely, something beyond the two of them. It was a thought that made Sam’s head hurt, made him want to write poetry, or maybe a song.

But for now, while their bodies writhed together on Sam’s bed, it was what they had. And Sam was sure that even Dean would agree it was pretty damn good.

**//**//**

“We need to go to the beach.”

They were lying side by side, Dean on his stomach, Sam tracing the fine scars on his back. He was wondering if Dean remembered having wings, if he remembered flying.

“I mean it, Sammy. Find us a hunt at the beach, will ya?”

Sam snorted out a chuckle. “Yeah, right. Like you’d ever let us take a day off to lie in the sun.”

“Hot chicks, very few clothes, mai-tais with those little umbrellas...” Dean sucked in a deep breath, let it out slow. “Pretty sure I could be talked into it.”

“Sounds like you just did,” Sam smiled, replacing his fingers with his lips, kissing along the imaginary outline of Dean’s non-existent wings.

Dean twitched and shifted subtly. “Tickles,” he complained.

“You love it,” Sam murmured as he lowered his mouth to Dean’s skin again. This time he added his fingers, tickling deliberately along the sensitive skin of Dean’s sides.

“Oh, oh, that is so unfair,” Dean wiggled out from under Sam’s hands, rolled over as far as the bed would allow.

“You always were the ticklish one,” Sam grinned as Dean glared at him.

“We need to get a king-sized bed,” he said, and Sam couldn’t argue with that.

**//**//**

Things might have shifted between them, but their fundamental relationship remained as it had always been. They were brothers with benefits, best friends and lovers. If anything, they talked more, shared their worries and concerns more now that they shared a bedroom again.

Not that they didn’t have times when they each needed space. They slept together in Sam’s room, but either one of them could retreat to Dean’s room if need be, and they both knew it. It was just coincidence that, once they got the king-sized bed, neither of them ever did.

They burned the painting out back of the bunker one night, standing shoulder-to-shoulder as fire consumed the small pyre they’d built for it. As the flames began to die down, Sam slipped his hand into Dean’s, and Dean let him.

Dean’s memory lapses kept improving, so that by the end of a year he seemed almost normal. There were still gaps, and sometimes it surprised Sam when Dean couldn’t remember something or someone significant from their past, while at the same time he seemed to be able to recall unimportant details so easily. But that was just the way memory worked. Overall, Sam had to admit that Dean’s was remarkably good, given everything that had happened.

Sam didn’t tell Dean that he’d checked in with Sheriff Scott, learned that none of the people they rescued from Faerie ever recovered any memories of their old lives. Sam bore the guilt for that alone, secretly researching ways to fix it until he was forced to admit defeat. Dean’s recovery was the exception to the rule, apparently. Nowhere in the lore could Sam find mention of anyone who remembered their old lives after such a long time in Faerie. Nowhere could he find records of anyone who didn’t want to go back. Just as he’d known from the beginning, leaving Faerie was a death sentence for most people.

The fact that Dean wasn’t most people was more comforting than it should be. Sam didn’t deserve to succeed in getting his loved one back when all those other people got was a sad shell who couldn’t even remember who they were, who spent the rest of their lives wishing they were somewhere else.

Sam lay next to Dean sometimes, just listening to him breathe, watching his chest rise and fall, and let himself feel grateful. He knew it was selfish, being so grateful for something that no one else could have, having this when there were so many lonely people in the world, when so many people suffered so much because they never had this, or lost it. Sam’s gratitude made him feel guilty, so he kept it to himself.

Sometimes Dean’s eyes would open, the light from the hallway making them seem luminous and otherworldly, and Dean would gaze at him silently, as if he knew. As if he could read Sam’s mind.

As if he was silently assuring Sam that he would feel the same way, if their situations were reversed.

It was their little secret.

_fin_


End file.
